


If Music Be

by BlurglesmurfKlaine



Category: Glee
Genre: Choir Director!Kurt, Glee Potluck Big Bang 2020, M/M, Music, Pianist!Blaine, choir, teacher!Blaine, teacher!kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlurglesmurfKlaine/pseuds/BlurglesmurfKlaine
Summary: Kurt’s just trying to survive his last semester of college, which means making it through student teaching in one piece.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 153
Kudos: 140
Collections: Glee





	1. First Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2020 Glee Potluck Big Bang!!
> 
> idek what this is tbh, but a few things you should know???
> 
> This is AU, very AU. I’ll do my best to explain it lol, but a lot of the setting is extracted from my personal life and I thought about setting it in Ohio but I just couldn’t do it? Bc this story is like my love letter to music and I feel it belongs in Texas (CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS)
> 
> Student Teaching: In college if you decide to pursue an education degree, after you have completed all other courses, you are sent into your respective field to shadow a working teacher with the intentions of eventually taking over their classes for a portion of that semester.
> 
> Mentor Teacher: the working teacher you are placed with to shadow
> 
> Field Supervisor: the university coordinator sent to observe you teaching lessons
> 
> That being said, there is a relationship between a Student Teacher and a working teacher in this story (not their mentor teacher, I feel that’s important to add). There’s a mild age gap, but neither of them are underage. Thought to disclose both of those things bc although it’s not technically a student/teacher relationship, I know I have a huge problem with student/teacher and underage age gap fics and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, so just putting all that out there right now.
> 
> Last thing's last, I misread the posting schedule and thought my posting date started August 16th when the 16th was in fact my LAST posting date and i am dumb lol. SO. Here it be lol. I'll try to post a chapter a day, but work and life is kinda crazy lmao.
> 
> I think that’s all??? Anyways, have fun, I know I am lol

The giant metal doors that lead into the high school loom above Kurt like a bad omen, and while the term  _ impending doom _ seems a little dramatic, it‘s one that keeps racing across his mind like the light up words scrolling from right to left on a marquee. All that’s missing is a giant red flashing sign that’s blinking:  **DANGER! DO NOT ENTER!**

Four of the worst years of his life occurred in an institution just like this one and he decided to come  _ back? _ Why the hell did he decide to come back?

Right, because of the one thing that made those four years simultaneously the best years of his life. Music.

When Kurt was in elementary, there was almost nothing as exciting as the first day of school. Everything was new and fun and exciting and being different wasn’t such a big deal. He remembers showcasing his outfits to his classmates and them being wildly impressed because  _ You’re mom didn’t even have to help you pick that out!? _ , preening his neck down the hallways to see if there were any new students, and the butterflies in his stomach as he and his classmates anxiously waited for the arrival of their teacher for that year.

That all changed in middle school, and of course, got so much worse in high school.

From a young age, Kurt always noticed he was different than the other boys in his class. Though, it wasn’t until around middle school that other students felt the need to point it out to him, making him feel as if it was a weakness rather than the strength he initially thought it to be. Those days, it was much easier to wait until his dad left to work and opt to stay home rather than face the inevitable taunting that was sure to come his way at school.

But the one thing that always kept his attendance records on track was choir. He’d met some of the best people in his life through that class, and when things got rough with bullies, he could always hide out in the choir room—the one place he was safe from the idiots that weren’t allowed in there. 

His mind flies back to the first time he’d stepped foot into his own high school choir room.

_ Kurt walked into the room his schedule directed him to. There was a set of seven risers in the center of the room, and two pianos in front of them—a baby grand on the right side, and a light brown upright on the left. _

_ He saw a woman with tan brown skin and a mop dark curly hair sitting at the upright and playing some sheet music, moving leaning her torso forward and back in time with the pulse of the music. _

_ Kurt timidly crept up behind her and cleared his throat before speaking. “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Velez, the choir teacher?” _

_ She abruptly stopped playing and swiveled her legs around quickly to face him. “That would be me. Are you a freshman?” _

_ He nodded. “I know class hasn’t started yet, but my dad dropped me off early and I’d rather come straight to first period than give the football players further chance to harass me at breakfast.” _

_ Kurt mildly regretted his admission at seeing the sympathetic look on her face. Though, he supposed sympathy was a better reaction than the apathy he’d gotten from others.  _

_ “Well we have some time, Mrs. Martin isn’t even here yet. She’s the assistant director. Have you ever been in choir before?” _

_ Kurt snorted because he legitimately couldn’t remember a time when he  _ wasn’t _ in choir. “Uh, yeah. Since third grade, actually.” _

_ “Awesome!” She gave a faint smile of approval. “What voice part were you on last year?” _

_ “Typically tenor, but Mr. Mata moved me to whichever section needed help.” _

_ “Hm… come over here, let’s check out that range of yours.” _

_ He stepped closer to her and she began playing some vocalises on the piano. “Repeat after me:  _ Mee-oh-ee-oh-ee _.” _

_ Mrs. Velez started at an Eb below middle C and Kurt followed. After he’d gone down to an A2, they began to work their way up chromatically. He took note of her growing astonishment as they went higher and higher, all the way up to an Ab5. _

_ “Oh my god!” She gasped at him in awe, eyebrows up to her hairline. “I mean, you’re only what, fourteen?” He gave her a quick nod of confirmation. “I thought so, so your voice still may change, but as of now, I’d say you’re a countertenor!” _

_ Kurt furrowed his eyebrows. “What does that mean?” _

_ “It’s a very rare voice type. It’s a male that can match the range and timbre of an operatic mezzo soprano.” _

_ “So… does that mean I’m special or something?” _

_ She gave him a soft smile. “Sweetie, everyone who steps into this room is special. God gave them a gift, and they decided to nurture it, help it grow, and share it with the world. That’s as special as it gets.” _

Kurt still isn't sold on the whole part about the gift from god thing (or the whole God thing in general), but he did like the rest of what Mrs. Velez had said. It stuck with him this far.

He initially requested to student teach under her supervision, but was denied. The NYU education department suddenly decided that student teachers would no longer be able to student teach at the schools they graduated from, despite it being common practice for  _ years _ before Kurt got to his senior year.

Finding that out had been a huge bummer, but due to his circumstances, the department did give him the option to be placed in another school within the same district rather than in New York. He loved the city, but his scholarship didn’t cover field based study, which meant he was on his own financially. Living back at home with his dad for this semester would lighten the load for sure. On top of that, it was an indisputable fact that the caliber of music taught here in Texas was much higher than that of any other state in the US. Between the biggest All-State choir in the country, and hosting the Nation’s largest music convention annually, no other state could really compete.

Kurt gathers his bearings and pushes on the bars to the doors. He had learned plenty in high school and even more than he could have imagined in college. He’s ready for this. And if he isn’t, well, he has an entire semester to get there.

The door stalls. It’s still locked. He flips his wrist up to check his watch. It’s barely ten past the hour, and only a teacher work day anyways. He’s sure his mentor teacher will be here soon.

* * *

After waiting out in the chilly air for the better part of an hour, Kurt spots an older man—likely in his fifties or sixties—finally make his way towards him. 

“You must be my student teacher.” The man extends a hand out to Kurt. “I’m James Davidson, East San Antonio High Choir Director.”

Kurt takes the man’s hand. “Kurt Hummel.”

“The email I got says you’re from NYU?” Mr. Davidson asks, quirking an eyebrow as his voice lilts with uncertainty.

“Yes,” Kurt confirms. “But I have lived in San Antonio for most of my life. Since I was eight. I graduated from McKinley over on the south side of the city, actually.”

“Ah, with Mrs. Velez?” Kurt’s new mentor teacher asks. “She’s great,” he says shortly, as if he means the words but resents their truth. “We disagree when it comes to teaching styles, but hey, she gets results.”

Kurt bites his tongue to keep from saying aloud that being the first school in the history of the district to bring home three varsity level sweepstakes trophies would constitute as results.

Mr. Davidson continues, keys jingling as he struggles to pop open the door. “Got that whole  _ Mexican mother from the barrios  _ thing going for her.” The older man can’t see Kurt’s eyes widen in equal parts shock and judgement. “That’s one thing you’ve gotta learn about me, Kurt. I’m not totally PC, as the kids call it these days. People nowadays are just way too sensitive, and a lot of people don’t like that I tell it as it is.”

Thankfully, Mr. Davidson finally manages to unlock the door. “There we go.”

He leads them inside, to a choir room much larger than the one in McKinley. Kurt shivers as he walks in, noting that the temperature would probably require him to bring a jacket every day regardless of weather.

Kurt follows his mentor teacher to another room within the classroom, an office. The older man gestures to the desk across from his. “That’s from back before they got rid of the assistant choir director position. When I started here about twelve years back, I told the board that our program didn’t really need an assistant. Waste of money. You don’t need two people to do a one person job.”

Kurt sets his backpack down on the desk, still a little shocked at his mentor teacher’s… unique perspective on life. Kurt had never met a choir director who had advocated to not have an assistant. In fact, he knew several who even lobbied to have a third, or start hiring part time assistants because their programs were so big.

“There’s a department meeting at two,” Mr. Davidson announces. “Then we’re here supposed to be here till four, but if you can keep a secret, we’ll just take off after the meeting.” Kurt nods submissively, not quite sure what else to do. “In the meantime, you can take these,” he hands Kurt a stack of nine songs in original copies. “And make copies. About forty five each. Copy room’s just down the hall we came through, third door on the right.”

“Of course,” Kurt says. Taking the pile, he starts to head out of the office before Mr. Davidson’s voice stops him one last time.

“Oh, and Kurt?”

Kurt freezes and looks back at him. “Yes?”

“Just a word of advice. I’d dial down the whole gay thing if I were you. I know you probably can’t help that your voice is, you know, like  _ that _ , but your wardrobe could use a little watering down.”

He just nods once emphatically and goes back to whatever he’s doing on his computer, like he doesn’t even expect a response from Kurt. Like Kurt’s reaction doesn’t even matter.

Frustration bubbles up in his chest and he whips around towards the copy room, grateful to be out of his new mentor teacher’s presence. He plants the originals on the table there and lets out a long sigh.

He looks down at his outfit, which in his opinion is tasteful while still being fairly conservative. Kurt isn't an idiot. He knows what an appropriate wardrobe for a teacher looks like. He knows that some of what he would wear on a day off would be considered too avant-garde for work. He doesn’t need the likes of his mentor teacher—who, he recalls, had shown up wearing a tattered old polo shirt and faded jeans so  _ he’s _ certainly one to talk—to tell him that.

And god, did he have to comment on his voice? His voice got him into the All-State Choir four times in a row, and a sizable scholarship to one of the best music schools in the country. But Mr. Davidson had talked about it like it was something to be ashamed of.

_Christ, I should’ve said something. Why didn’t I say something?_ _Because what the hell do you say when the person who’s supposed to be your guide tells you to not be yourself?_

Kurt eyes the door. Is it too late to drop this class? Take this semester off and request a new placement next semester? He seriously,  _ seriously _ considers it before his father’s voice comes ringing back in his ears.  _ Nobody pushes the Hummels around. _

Fourteen weeks. That’s all it is. One day, Kurt would look back on this time and barely even remember it. A blip on his way to becoming a successful choir director. It’s going to be a long semester, but god dammit, Kurt’s going to get through it.

* * *

Kurt hasn’t spoken with her one on one, but he already likes the art teacher. In the thirty minutes she’d been running the department meeting, she said at least three darkly humorous jokes that left her colleagues in stitches. She’s probably in her late thirties, and the right half of her short, dark, curly hair is dyed purple. 

The window to her office is plastered with pictures of cats, people he assumed to be family, and several paintings that were either hers or her student’s. Kurt’s favorite painting is one that depicted a cartoon version of Mrs. Guerra under a tree, looking grumpy while two butterflies—one purple, one blue—danced in front of her.

“Okay,” Mrs. Guerra sighs. “Final bullet point, yay. Administration is really emphasizing for this district to strive for excellence. Central office really wants us to set up high standards for competitions like UIL Evaluations and TMEA auditions for the music people, and TVAA for the visual arts. Which, as we all know, has never been an issue for this department.”

_ Yeah, _ Kurt thinks.  _ It’s never a problem for the fine arts department because we’re used to having to fight tooth and nail to demonstrate the validity of our programs.  _

If Kurt was with his friends back at NYU, he might voice his opinions, but he’s new here. And he isn’t even a real teacher yet. No need to rock the boat before he’s even gotten a feel for the general vibe of his placement.

Instead, he takes his mentor teacher’s advice and keeps his head down, taking meticulous notes in the spiral Finn had given him before he started the semester. He snaps it right back up, though, when someone voices his unspoken opinions on the matter.

“It’s not an issue for this department because we know administration doesn’t see the value of a fine arts program unless it’s validated through competition, despite the fact that it aids students cross-curricularly and also has beneficial social emotional impacts.” 

Kurt’s jaw drops just slightly. It was like this stranger had been in his head. He turns his head to find the source of the voice—a young man with tan skin and dark gelled-down hair. His eyes remind Kurt of one autumn afternoon he’d spent playing in the fallen leaves, and he has to remember to catch his breath because  _ Holy crap, chill out. You don’t even know this guy. _

The man merely shrugs. “We’re doing what we have to do to keep our programs alive.”

The mysterious fine arts advocate finally seems to notice Kurt’s staring and sends him a friendly smile with a small wave of his fingers.

Kurt returns the smile shortly but averts his gaze when he feels heat crawl up his face.  _ Don’t be so obvious, you hopeless case. He’s probably like, thirty. Or married. Or straight. Or all three, this is Texas, let’s be real here. _

The rest of the department nod their heads in agreement while Mrs. Guerra rolls her eyes. “You know as well as I do that everyone in this room shares your concerns, but it’s too early in the year to start revolutions, Mr. Anderson. Organized uprisings are scheduled for late March, early April.” She smirks playfully at him. “We have a strict schedule to stick to, young man.”

The rest of the faculty chuckle and Mrs. Guerra continues with her presentation. 

Kurt tries to take notes for the rest of the meeting, but finds his gaze being pulled in by the stranger’s—Mr. Anderson’s—magnetic presence. 

Okay, so maybe the day hadn’t gotten off to the best start. Maybe his mentor teacher is kind of the worst. But when Kurt’s looking at the mystery of a man across the room, he finds it really hard not to look forward to the endless possibilities. 

It seems that for the first time in a long time, he’s enjoyed his first day of school again.


	2. Hot For (Piano) Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Posting this early bc i can legit do whatever i want lmao also i think this is where it sort of picks up so yoloooooo
> 
> As always, big shoutout to Adri, who is so genius in her beta-ing talents

“We have three choirs,” Mr. Davidson explains. The bell that dismisses students from their first period class (which Kurt and his mentor teacher took as a planning period) rings. “The JV Girls this coming period, Varsity Mixed after that, and then Show Choir after lunch and conference. We’re just working on solos since Solo and Ensemble is right around the corner. We’re not taking them to contest anyways.”

By the time the bell rings, twenty five girls are standing on the risers before Kurt. Mr. Davidson introduces him with a quick announcement before sending him to a practice room to work with a few of the girls on their solos for the upcoming competition.

Working with the JV girls is easy enough. For most of them, it’s their first year in choir and the biggest hurdle involved getting them to sing at an audible volume. Overall, Kurt enjoys his time with them, but is secretly more excited to meet the Varsity group.

Finally, the bell rings. Kurt dismisses the student he’d been working with—a freshman singing  _ The Sandman _ —and heads back to the choir room.

Not thirty seconds after the passing period starts, a young girl with wide eyes urgently strides up to Kurt, her tight curls bouncing with every step she takes. Kurt regards her with caution, as she’s putting off some  _ serious _ Rachel Berry vibes. 

The first thing Kurt notices is her off-color mustard coat, almost but not quite hiding the ensemble underneath. A black and white checkered button-down cardigan that meets a high-waisted mahogany corduroy skirt ending just below her knees, which is, of course, accompanied by white crew socks and black Mary Janes. Her long dark hair is pushed in place with a bright red headband.

“I’m Melodie Vasquez,” she begins, her voice clear and bright and high. “I’m a sophomore, I’ve been in choir for as long as I can remember, I made the 2020 All-State Women’s Choir as a first soprano this year, and next year I’m going to make first chair in the All-State Mixed Choir.”

Kurt stares back at this child with a mixture of wonder, awe, and just a smidge of fear. “Well, um, congratulations Melodie. It’s nice to meet you, I’m—“

“Mr. Hummel,” she says, her voice flipping to its falsetto in her excitement. “Kurt Hummel, to be exact. You graduated from McKinley High in 2016, attended NYU, and starred in several shows such as Gianni Schicchi, L’Orfeo, La Traviata, and Company, to name a few.” Kurt just blinks at her in astonishment. “When Mr. Davidson texted me that you were going to be our student teacher—”

_ He  _ texts _ his students? _

“I immediately googled you. I just thought I should let you know that we are going to become very well acquainted this semester because I  _ need _ you to tell me everything about New York.”

Kurt softens just a tad. “Let me guess, you want to go to Broadway?”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Are you mad? Of course not. I want to be a part of the Metropolitan Opera like Cecilia and Jessye.”

From behind her, a new voice calls out. “Did we get a new teacher?”

Melodie whips around to face a girl a good four inches taller than her. The new girl stands, hands in her jean pockets and leaning her weight on one leg. She has her shoulder length ombré hair up in a half ponytail.

“No, Mariana.” Melodie says, and Kurt is definitely picking up on some bite in her tone. “He’s a student teacher. That means he’s in college and he’ll be teaching us sometimes so he can learn to be a teacher.”

Mariana narrows her eyes at Melodie. “Listen, Mel. I’m not in the mood. I was just trying to introduce myself. You can go back to being an overzealous tyrant when I’m done.”

The shorter girl huffs and spins around, taking her place on the risers.

“Hi,” the newest girl says. “I’m Mariana. I’m a Junior, choir council President. Nice to meet you.”

“Everyone on the risers for warm up!” Mr. Davidson calls out. The remaining mingling students head to their respective sections. “Mr. A will be here shortly to rehearse piano with those who have their solo memorized on solfege.”

_ Mr. A? _ Kurt wonders.  _ Who the heck is that? _

Kurt’s still struggling to put a face to the name of the man he assumes is their accompanist when the bell rings and Mr. Davidson promptly begins with the warm up. Kurt likes that; there’s no sense in wasting any time when you only see your ensemble once a day for fifty minutes. 

The choir’s almost done with their warm ups when Mr. Davidson’s phone ping. “Kurt, will you open the door for the accompanist, please?”

Kurt wishes Mr. Davidson wouldn’t call him by his first name in front of the students (even if it is common for mentor teachers and student teachers to be on a first name basis, it’s only appropriate that they remain professional in front of the kids) but obliges nonetheless. 

He walks over to the door and pushes on the metal bar that keeps the door to the choir room closed. He sucks in a breath upon seeing those hazel eyes that had captured his attention earlier that week up close. “Oh,” Kurt exhales, practically involuntarily. “ _ You’re _ Mr. A,” he says dumbly.  _ Of course that’s Mr. A you idiot. A as in Anderson… from the department meeting. _

“Yep.” The man confirms, brushing past Kurt in a hurry. “Piano studio teacher and occasional choir accompanist, at your service.”

“Thanks Kurt,” Mr. Davidson says, as Kurt does his best to not make a face while the piano teacher can see him.

The pianist quickly takes a seat by the nearby upright piano and opens his binder. 

“Let’s all give a big welcome back to Mr. Anderson,” Mr. Davidson directs. The choir replies with a warm  _ Good morning, Mr. Anderson! _ and smiles all around. A few students even wave excitedly at him and he waves back. “Okay. Any volunteers to sing through their solo?”

No sooner than the words have left Mr. Davidson’s mouth Melodie’s hand shoots up. The teacher nods towards her and she darts towards the front of the room, like she knows that’s where she belongs.

“Hello. My name is Melodie Vasquez and I’ll be singing  _ Les Berceaux _ by Fauré.” She smiles brightly at Mr. Davidson. “I took the liberty of looking up a diction tutorial over winter break and learned the French. It’s memorized, is it okay if I sing it on the French?” 

“Of course it is,” Mr. Davidson says nonchalantly. She nods towards the pianist, who takes a deep breath before beginning the intro to the piece.

Melodie sings through the piece easily and beautifully. Kurt’s impressed, she really does have a beautiful voice, and it’s an impressive size for her age.

When the piano finally ends, the class erupts into supportive cheers. Kurt has to hand it to her, Melodie’s really good. But there is always room for improvement, particularly on her tuning in her mid voice and interpretation of the piece (because really, should anyone look that happy when they’re singing about men going off to war and leaving their children behind?), but he’ll get to that later.

“Excellent,” Mr. Davidson seems satisfied with her performance. “I have no criticisms.” 

Kurt raises his eyebrows, internally screaming,  _ I do! _ Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the pianist looking at him—clearly having seen Kurt’s expression—and pursing his lips to hold back a smile.  _ Oh fuck, awesome, he saw that.  _

“Anyone else?”

A timid hand rises up from the large selection of students—fifty, by Kurt’s count.

“Do you have a question, Mariana?” The oldest teacher asks.

“Um, no,” she replies. “I want to sing. I-I-I was just gonna—going to ask if I could use my music. Not for the pitches and rhythms, just for the words because it’s a  _ lot _ of German—”

“Are you telling me you don’t have your solo memorized?” Mr. Davidson says harshly.

“I—No, not at all. I was just—”

“Then you don’t need your binder. Sing it on solfege.”

Mariana nods and takes her place down in front of the choir. “Um, good evening—morning. Good morning, I’ll be singing  _ Du Bist die Ruh _ by Schubert… and my name is Mariana Ramos.”

One boy sitting on the risers begins clapping furiously and a few other members halfheartedly follow suit in their confusion. He’s tall, stocky, and dark skinned, wearing an orange and navy EHS letterman jacket. Mariana glances gratefully at him before nodding to Mr. Anderson.

As she sings the first verse of the song, Kurt takes mental note of her voice, assessing it the same way he did Melodie’s. It’s young sounding, and breathy, but she has really great vowels and tuning. However, this song is deceptively hard, seemingly easy and repetitive, but requires an insane amount of breath support.

Still, Mariana clearly has a lot of potential. Most kids do, if you know where to look.

When the first verse is over, she sucks in a breath to start the second verse, but Mr. Davidson cuts her off. “Stop.” 

The piano comes to a halt and she freezes, not daring to move a single muscle.

“You can finish when you learn to sing like a varsity choir member and not a sixth grader who smokes seven packs a day.”

Kurt’s stomach sinks like a stone thrown into a turbulent river. Singing is very personal. If you play a clarinet, and say the clarinet always squeaks on an E-flat, you can just upgrade, buy another clarinet. But with singing… you  _ are _ your instrument and there’s no “upgrading”. It all comes down to grit and determination in this field, and the fact that Mr. Davidson can look a child in the eye who clearly has plenty of both and so horrifically insult her voice in front of her peers makes Kurt sick to his stomach.

Mariana keeps her face still as stone as she steps back up on the risers. Kurt can feel her pain all the way from the front of the classroom.

* * *

“Alright,” Mr. Davidson huffs. “I’m heading out for lunch, would you care to join me?”

Kurt’s eyes dart down to the lunch he had packed for himself, and he remembers his woefully empty wallet. “Uh, no thanks.” He forces out a tight lipped smile. “I brought my own lunch.”

His teacher shrugs, already putting on his coat. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back for sixth and seventh period. Some of the upperclassmen have study hall and always come in for extra help.”

_ Oh… I guess he’s taking his conference for lunch, too.  _ “Sure thing, Mr. Davidson. See you then.”

Kurt doesn’t particularly like Mr. Davidson, but it doesn’t take him long to realize that at least with his presence, the silence in the tiny office isn’t so loud. He hears the air conditioner whir to life, even though it’s already probably below freezing. He groans and zips his jacket closed, hoping to make things feel a little warmer, but the air is blasting too hard for anything to make a difference.

After a few minutes, Kurt finally decides to just give in and head to the fine arts lounge across the hall. He picks up his lunchbox and leaves the office in a hurry to get to some warmth.

* * *

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

Blaine usually doesn’t eat lunch in the Fine Arts lounge. Hell, none of the faculty really does. Everyone is usually content sitting in their offices, simultaneously poring over scores or some sort of purchase order or web travel.

But he’d seen Mr. Davidson’s student teacher’s face—Kurt, if he remembered correctly—when Mr. Davidson had sent Mariana away. The lack of understanding, the frustration, the sympathy… Blaine feels the need to check up on the new kid, make sure he’s doing alright. Vocalists have to support each other, and he knows Kurt won’t get any from Mr. Davidson.

He comes into the doorway just in time to witness Kurt take a bite out of a sandwich and see some mustard drip onto his chin. He stifles a laugh and clears his throat. “Mr. Hummel?”

Kurt looks up at him with wide and shockingly clear blue eyes. This is the first time they’ve made direct eye contact and wow, Blaine is  _ not _ checking the new student teacher out but he really did not expect him to have such—and this is a completely objective observation, of course—lovely eyes. 

“Mr. Anderson!” He cries out, clearly not expecting anyone to be standing in the doorway. He scans the table and reaches out for the stack of napkins to wipe at his face.

Blaine doesn’t stop the laugh this time. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He holds up his lunchbox. “I usually eat lunch in my office, but I figured you might like some company.”

“I mean, sure! If you’d want—I mean, if you usually—” Kurt cuts himself off and sucks in a quick breath. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

He slides into the seat across from Kurt and smiles what he hopes is a friendly enough smile. “So how are you liking things here at East after your first day?”

“Good, good…” Kurt says, but Blaine isn’t that entirely convinced. “The kids are great. They’re really good kids. I’m just grateful that my school still placed me in San Antonio. When my request to be placed at my old high school was denied, they could have just placed me out of state, but they offered me a placement in the same district, at least. Which again, grateful. The caliber of music in public schools just isn’t the same anywhere else.”

He hums in agreement. “Why out of state, though?”

“Oh, I went to NYU,” Kurt explains. “But my scholarship didn’t cover field based study, so it was cheaper for me to come home and live with my dad.”

“So you were born in San Antonio?”

“Well, no. I was actually born in Ohio.”

Blaine feels his eyebrows raise. “You’re kidding? Me, too! What brought you to Texas?”

He sees the smile fade from Kurt’s face all too quickly and suddenly wonders if he shouldn’t have asked. “Well, uh, my mom… She passed away when I was eight.” 

_ Oh. _ Blaine’s eyes flash with sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks… My dad took it pretty hard. We moved here to live with his sister until he got back on his feet. By then, I had settled into the community here and he didn’t see a reason to go back to Ohio.” Kurt sighs. “But enough about my tragic backstory, trademark patent pending. What caused you to leave the great state of Ohio.”

Blaine shrugs. “Just school. UT-Austin has one of the music programs in the nation, and I was lucky to get in. My primary instrument is voice, too, but the district had an opening for a piano teacher and choir accompanist right around the time I graduated, so…” he trails off and tosses a hand out. “Here we are.”

“Do you miss it?” Kurt asks. “Working with choir?”

“Yeah,” Blaine sighs. “I’d give anything to be a director, but there are no openings anytime soon in the area. But I really want to stay in the city, and you know they say you won’t come across your perfect fit job until around your tenth year of teaching, so I’ve still got a ways to go.”

“So, uh, how long have you been teaching?” Kurt asks, taking a careful sip from his water bottle. 

“Well, I just turned twenty-five, so this year would be my third.” Blaine wants to chuckle when Kurt nearly chokes on the water, but holds it in so that it’s just a poorly concealed grin. He’s used to this reaction by now. He supposes it’s a compliment.

“You’re twenty-five?” Kurt asks incredulously. 

“Yeah, my mentor teacher advised me to dress up a bit more until you hit your forties. She said it’d make the division between teacher and student explicitly clear.”

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to be so… young, I guess. I’m twenty two, so we’re practically the same age.”

Blaine barks out a laugh. “I promise you, I’m so old. There are days where I’m in bed by, like, nine-thirty.”

Kurt chuckles. “God, bed at nine-thirty sounds like a  _ dream. _ And I need all the sleep I can get, working with—“ he stops himself just in time. He shakes his head. “Sorry… that was—“

Blaine knows exactly what Kurt was going to say and doesn’t blame him one bit. There were much worse things to be said about a man like Mr. Davidson. “Honest?” He finishes for Kurt.

“I was going to say unprofessional.” Kurt sighs and his colleague twists his mouth with sympathy. “I just, don’t want your first impression of me to be that I’m this kid trash talking my mentor teacher but… his first piece of advice for me was to quote unquote:  _ tone down the gay.” _

The muscles in Blaine’s arms go rigid and he just breathes deeply. “Yeah, his casual homophobia is something I’ve had to put up with since I ran into him at TMEA one year. He saw me coming out of Bonham Exchange with some friends and put two and two together. The next Monday, he lectured me about how I should be careful about the crowd I run with and that some parents might not want to have their children near someone with my lifestyle choices.”

Kurt stares back at him in horror. 

“But-but the kids are great!” Blaine backtracks, realizing he may have just fed into Kurt’s fear. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you off. You seem like a very competent young man, and I’m sure you’re going to rise to your full potential.”

“Oh, god, I sure hope so. There are eighty kids in that program and the thought of even letting one of them down makes me feel like I swallowed lead.”

“You wont. I have a good feeling about you.”

“Oh…” Kurt swallows and looks back at Blaine with grateful (and really, really lovely) eyes. “Thank you.”

Before he can respond, the bell rings, releasing students to their next period. “Oh, shoot,” he mutters, packing up the remnants of his lunch. “I gotta go.” He stands up, jabs a thumb in the direction of the piano lab, and smiles widely at Kurt. “Advanced studio. But uh, it was really nice talking to you, Mr. Hummel. I really hope we get to do this again sometime.”

Kurt smiles back, wide and bright. “Me, too.”


	3. What's In A Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, humongous thanks to Adr!

“So, what I’m hearing is that you’re in love with him and you don’t even know his name.”

Kurt hoists the pizza out of the brick oven and carefully places it on the cooling rack, the heat waves hitting him like a slap in the face that he always braces himself, yet never seems to be ready for. He saves his eye roll until he’s sure Santana can see it. “I’m saying that he’s young, and cute, and we’re in the same profession, and we were even both born in Ohio, how  _ perfect _ is that?”

“Oh dear god,” Santana groans. “It sounds like we’re going to have another Finn situation on our hands.”

He shoots her a glare as he pulls a ready-to-go pizza crust out of its commercial packaging. “It is  _ not _ another Finn situation, as Mr. Anderson is in fact, gay, and will likely not end up being my step brother.”

“Is that what you’re going to call him when you exchange vows?” She teases. She bats her eyelashes and uses a sing-song voice. “I, Kurt Hummel, take thee, Mr. Anderson—“

He swats at her shoulder and she draws back just in time, smirking the entire time. “Will you stop being a cynical bitch and help me sauce these pizzas? We still have fourteen more to prep before closing.”

* * *

Right before third period one day, Mr. Davidson walks up to Kurt. “So, I’m thinking you can take over sight reading for the varsity group today.”

Kurt rolls up onto his toes in his excitement, which was all he could do to keep himself from jumping for joy (which, if he had, he's sure Mr. Davidson would have had something to say about it). “Okay!” He replies eagerly. 

“Yeah, it’s been a week, and you’ve seen how I do it a couple of times now. Go for it.”

Kurt lifts his binder and immediately scours the sight reading packet in preparation. When it’s time, Mr. Davidson gestures for him to take his place in front of the students.

“Um… okay,” Kurt nods to himself, trying to gather his bearings. “Um, could everyone turn to page 22—”

His mentor teacher immediately cuts him off. “Don’t ever ask them, Kurt. Just state it. This is what we’re doing today. Also, let’s just skip page 22 today, they worked on minor modes last week.”

Kurt lets out a breath of relief. He didn’t expect Mr. Davidson to say anything that could have  _ actually _ been remotely helpful. He nods. “Okay. Everyone turn to page 23.” The choir does as they’re told while Kurt plays the tonic note on the piano. “Now, follow my hand signs.”

They do, and Kurt forms the solfege hand signs for the tonic triad. “Okay, now we’re going to sing Do-Fa-La, the four ch—”

“They don’t need to do that.” Mr. Davidson interrupts one more time, with a dismissive wave of his hands. “Tonic is enough for them to latch onto, you’ll just confuse them. Predominant and Dominant chords are useless for sight reading.”

Kurt wants to defend his techniques by pointing out that the point of predominant and dominant chords is that they lead back to the tonic triad, but there are suddenly fifty pairs of eyes on him looking at him for instruction and one pair that thinks he’s a complete idiot. 

He’s frozen, staring dumbly at the sight reading sheet like he’s not the same guy who memorized hundreds of pages of music throughout his college career.

“You know what, Kurt, I’m not sure this is working out.” Mr. Davidson says. “Why don’t you take Mariana for a lesson on her solo in one of the practice rooms?” He leans and not-so-subtly whispers. “Lord knows she probably needs it.” It’s loud enough for the entire choir to hear, and Kurt can feel the student tense up all the way from the risers.

He purses his lips and nods, tapping into any strength he might have left to not make his frustration visible. He doesn’t even know if he’s angry at himself or the situation or his mentor teacher for putting him down before he even really had a chance to  _ do _ anything...

Mariana steps off the risers and follows him into the adjacent practice room.

“Alright,” Kurt starts, taking a seat behind the upright piano. “Let’s sing through this on solfege, starting at the third verse.”

Mariana looks down at her music and gnaws on her bottom lip.

“Is there a problem?” Kurt asks cautiously, knowing she might still be a little sensitive from… well, everything. “Do you want me to play your part or sing with you?”

“No, it’s just…” The girl shakes her head and hesitates before her explanation comes tumbling out. “So I know the key signature says C, but I read it in A-flat for the last verse because the key signature of A-flat has an A-flat and a B-flat and C natural, and so does this section. That way, instead of having all these weird accidentals that don't really seem to fit, it’s just an ascending melodic minor scale that starts on a Ti instead of La…”

Kurt quickly glances down at the music and realizes that her interpretation makes a whole lot of sense. “That’s… that’s incredible that you noticed that.”

“Oh… Thanks,” she shrugs a bit nonchalantly. “I’m really interested in music theory but we don’t have a class. I’ve asked Mr. Davidson to teach me some more but he’s usually busy with Melodie.”

There’s a dull pang in his chest—a mixture of pity and frustration. This was the reason he’d decided to be a teacher. Kids like Mariana, who have the same passion for music and thirst for knowledge are what make everything worth it. They deserve better than the likes of Mr. Davidson.

“Well, I’m always here during lunch and fifth period,” Kurt offers. “If you ever want any more information, or have any questions, you can always come to me.”

She beams at him. “You’re really cool, Mr. Hummel—or can we call you Mr. H? Some kids were wondering.”

He chuckles. “Mr. H is fine by me. Now, let’s hear that third verse.”

She nods agreeingly and starts singing. Kurt notes the same issues from the week before. She’s near the peak of the song, but right before she got to the high F, she starts to back off, and the note comes out as a mousy squeak.

“Okay, pause,” Kurt says, turning to stop the CD player.

“I know, I know,” Mariana groans. “I backed off.”

“I’m glad you have that awareness. Some people don’t. I want to ask you: do you know why Mr. Davidson assigned you this song?”

“He didn’t.” She admits. “I was looking through some of the solo books and I found this one and I begged him to let me do it. It’s in my upper register, so I figured it could help strengthen it. Plus, it’s a class one, and I really want to go to Austin.”

“Ah, I see. Good choice,” he complimented her. If class one solos receive a division one rating at the district level, they get to go to Austin in May to sing for a state judge. “Now I want to ask: what is the worst thing that could happen if you sing out?”

Mariana blanches. “Oh god, someone could actually hear me.”

Kurt stifles a laugh. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. If something doesn’t sound good, I will tell you and we will fix it together. Sound like a deal?”

She nods definitively, eager to work. “Yes sir.”

They spend the rest of the class refining Mariana’s tone. By the time the bell dismisses them, she has an impossibly wide smile. “Thank you, Mr. H. Today was the first time in a really long time that I liked the way I sounded.”

With a wave, she quickly bounces off to go pick up her backpack before heading to her next class.

“Kurt!” He whips around to see his mentor teacher slipping on his coat as he usually does once third period is over. “Before I forget, the rest of the music faculty is going out for lunch this Saturday and you are welcome to join us.”

Kurt almost lights up at the opportunity to get to know Mr. Anderson better before remembering… “Ah, I wish I could, but I have to work Saturday.”

“Alright, suit yourself,” is all he says before slipping out the door.

* * *

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

Blaine is going to be late. No, actually, he’s already late.

Blaine  _ is _ late. 

He knows he’s supposed to accompany the varsity choir at least two days a week, but Enrique was having an absolute meltdown over not having his solo memorized yet, even though he’d just gotten it a week ago and for God’s sake it was a Schumann character piece, what did the poor overachiever expect?

Still, Blaine couldn’t just leave a crying kid there, so he consoled his student, letting him know that things like this would take time. Of course, that had taken a few minutes.

“You left you binder here last time,” Mr. Davidson grumbles as soon as he walks through the door. “I used it for a private lesson with Melodie when I couldn’t find mine. It’s in the practice room. Kurt’s in there with Mariana, you can go grab it.”

Normally Blaine would be mad at Mr. Davidson’s attitude, but he knows it’s not completely undeserved due to his tardiness. It’s still annoying.

He heads off to the adjacent practice room and hears a somewhat familiar voice singing along to an accompaniment CD. He knocks once before poking his head in, just in time to hear a second of Mariana still singing before she cuts herself off due to the interruption.

“Was that you?” he asks, a glowing smile on his face.

Her face lights up with pride. “Uh, yeah,” she laughs, almost like she can’t believe she made that sound herself. She jerks her head to the piano. “Mr. Hummel’s been helping me a lot lately.”

Blaine finally turns his head to the figure sitting at the piano. It’s Kurt, the new cute— _ nope.  _ He shuts that thought right down. 

It’s the new student teacher, who apparently—based on what he just heard from Mariana—really knows what he’s doing.

Blaine’s glad for Mariana. For someone so easygoing, she’s surprisingly a hard worker, more so than even some of Blaine’s old college-mates. It’s about time someone nurtured her potential.

Kurt shakes his head. “It’s all her,” he insists. “She puts in the work.”

“But I really couldn’t have done it without you, Mr. H.”

Kurt smiles fondly at her, and Blaine ignores the flip in his stomach. “We’ll call it a team effort.”

She laughs and agrees, but as a professional, Blaine knows that without Kurt here, Mariana might not have been able to find that sound for a long time.

“I assume you came in here for this,” Kurt says, passing him a black binder with  _ EHS Piano Accomp.  _ written on the spine.

“Ah, yes,” Blaine confirms, taking it. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Kurt smiles for a second, then immediately goes back to teacher mode. “Okay, so that was better, but now I want you to imagine a water bottle—”

Blaine closes the door behind himself and heads back to the piano bench, feeling a sort of newfound—respect, he supposes, for Kurt. 

His fingers are on the piano keys the rest of the period, but he finds his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of EHS’s newest addition.

* * *

Saturday afternoon shifts at the Pizza Parlor aren’t so bad. Aside from a few regulars who insisted on tipping Kurt and Santana even though there was really no need to, things usually ran pretty slow. And not having to deal with Mr. Davidson was a definite plus. 

“So you have a mentor teacher who won’t let you teach and a crush on the other teacher who doesn’t even know your name,” Santana says just a tad condescendingly. “What do you mean you’re not having a good time?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “He knows my name,” he defends. “And I just… choose to refer to him as Mr. Ander—”

He stops midway through his sentence when the electric chime lets him know someone had walked into the Pizza Parlor. His stomach somersaults when he sees Mr. Davidson walk in, followed by a woman Kurt recognizes as the orchestra teacher, a few band directors, and—

“Oh, my god, San,” Kurt whispers, ducking down behind the counter. “It’s him.”

She places a hand on her hip. “It’s who?” 

He points behind him to the crowd of music teachers. “The one with the good hair and dreamy eyes. The piano teacher I’ve been telling you about!”

“Oh!” Her eyes go wide before her lips curl up deviously. “Well, would you look at the time. I gotta go count chips.”

Kurt springs up and aims a finger at her. “Don’t you dare leave me,” he warns her.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of that thing that I need to go do, right now, while you take cute Billy Joel’s order.”

“Santana!” he cries after her, but she’s already gone. 

“Excuse me?” one of the teachers calls to his attention. 

Kurt tenses and slowly spins around, putting on what’s probably the tightest lipped, most uncomfortable smile he’s ever worn. Standing in front of him is his mentor teacher and the rest of the music faculty from EHS. 

“Kurt!” Mr. Davidson exclaims, as if they’re best friends. Kurt doesn’t know if it’s a facade for the rest of the music faculty, or if Mr. Davidson simply appreciates the unpaid labor Kurt offers. “Everyone, you know my student teacher, he couldn’t make it today, for reasons that are now obvious to me.”

“Ah, getting some extra cash in while you’re in school?” one of the band directors suggests. 

Kurt internally winces. No, none of the cash he makes is extra, by any means. Every paycheck he obtains goes straight to tuition, at least until he pays it off later in the semester. He supposes his boomer colleagues wouldn’t understand that.

“You should just quit,” the orchestra teacher offers. “Trust me, the money isn’t worth the sleep you lose. Especially since you don’t get paid for student teaching.”

“I uh, can’t really quit,” Kurt tries to explain. 

“Sure you can,” a band director says. “Just tell your boss you’re busy with school.”

This is a new level of embarrassing—even though Kurt knows it shouldn’t be. Lots of his friends needed jobs to help them through college, but something about the older faculty’s comments make him feel out of place. And that’s without even mentioning the unflattering baseball cap and apron uniform.

Kurt shifts his weight on his feet uncomfortably. Between trying not to make eye contact with his crush and finding an appropriate response to his colleagues comments, he’s paralyzed by the socially awkward situation. 

He opens his mouth, honestly not quite sure what’s going to come out of it, before another voice breaks through the air just in time.

“Well, I think it just reflects positively on his work ethic, don’t you?”

Kurt faces the voice and exhales when he sees Mr. Anderson smiling back at him and saving him from an uncomfortable conversation. 

The rest of the music faculty nods in agreement and Kurt begins taking their orders before they can ask anymore questions or make anymore comments. 

When the older teachers had their orders taken and had gone to sit down, the piano teacher finally approached the register. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Kurt mumbles back sheepishly. “Thanks for the save back there. For the record, I don’t dress up like this and bake pizzas for fun.”

“Not that I would judge you if you did, but I figured.” He jerks his head towards his colleagues. “I think they just forgot how expensive college is. Or… maybe it was just that college wasn’t as much of a financial burdern back then as it is now.”

“Yeah…”

“So um, I know it can be a little hard, as a new teacher, adjusting to the lifestyle and finding your niche. We can grab a cup of coffee sometime, so you can hang out with someone a little closer to your age bracket.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, eyes widening in mild surprise. “Thanks, Mr. Anderson,” he says, his lips curling up.

The piano teacher smiles back supportively. “Call me Blaine.”


	4. Mixed Signals

Kurt feels the weight of the day lifting from his shoulders as he walks down the hall towards the parking lot. Class went just fine, but it had been a rare day that Mr. Davidson didn’t go out for lunch. This means that he spent the entire lunch talking Kurt’s ear off about how  _ The way people were going after Trump was a witch hunt!  _ and how  _ A liberal arts degree is  _ just _ as good as a bachelor’s of music for a choir director. _ It also means that he didn’t spend his lunch period with Blaine, which was the cherry on top.

He's nearly to his car when a familiar voice calls out to him. “Hey, Kurt! Wait up!”

Kurt lights up inside when he sees Blaine lightly jogging towards him, trying to catch up. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You weren’t at lunch today,” Blaine points out, and Kurt finds it nearly impossible to stay still when his insides wanted him to do cartwheels or a really cheesy eighties dance—probably the cabbage patch if he was his father’s son. “We kind of have a little arrangement going here, and it’d be a shame if we didn’t have our daily catch up.” He jerks his head towards his car. “Come on, I’ll drive. I know this cafe nearby that serves the most fantastic decaffeinated green tea.”

Kurt happily agrees. “Yeah, of course.”

* * *

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

Within the hour they’re at the nearby coffee shop waiting for their orders. Blaine notices the tension in Kurt’s shoulders, the way he’s fiddling with the sugar packets—lining them up in rows then separating them into piles by color before rolling them between his fingers.

“Bad day?” Blaine finally asks.

Kurt snaps his head up, focus coming back into his eyes. “Not particularly…” he admits. “Lunch with you is kind of the best part of my day, and spending time with Mr. Davidson is kind of the worst part of it. So I got a sort of double whammy today.”

A waitress comes by and drops off their drinks. They both thank her before continuing with their conversation.

“I’m just having a hard time getting excited about teaching when I hate my mentor teacher and he won’t even really let me teach.”

Blaine twists his mouth sympathetically. His own mentor teacher was absolutely fantastic in every conceivable way. She was smart as a whip and knew how to push her students to be their best while still being kind and positive. On top of that, she was completely invested in his growth and success as a new teacher, gave him the freedom to try new techniques while still giving him helpful feedback on things he did right and things he could have improved on.

He doubts Kurt is getting the same experience with Mr. Davidson.

Kurt’s only been at EHS for three weeks, and Blaine sees how much he cares about those students. He deserves to have someone care about him in return.

Blaine hasn’t been teaching very long himself, but he’s definitely learned a lot since starting. If some sort of mentorship is what Kurt is lacking, it’s something that Blaine is definitely willing to try to provide.

“I know, Mr. Davidson is kind of a lot,” Blaine finally agrees. “It’s hard not to let the negatives get you down. But, we  _ can _ always try to highlight the positive. What’s something you like about EHS?” 

He smiles when he sees the tension melt off of Kurt. “I love working with those kids. Especially Mariana. She is so smart, Blaine. It’s infuriating that Mr. Davidson doesn’t see her potential. We were working on her solo the other day and she noticed that the composer modulated without changing the key signature, and she adjusted her solfege to the tonicization.”

Blaine’s eyebrows raise, impressed. “Holy crap, that’s… she is smart.” He agrees. “What is she singing?”

“She asked for  _ Du Bist die Ruh. _ It’s actually one of my favorite pieces.”

“Oh, by the twink.”

Kurt freezes, midway through a sip of his coffee. He lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Schubert,” Blaine says matter-of-factly, fighting a smirk at Kurt’s reaction. Maybe a little friendship is something he wouldn’t mind providing for Kurt, either. “He wrote  _ Du Bist _ . Schubert was definitely a twink.”

Kurt nearly spits out his drink. “Blaine Anderson, you can  _ not _ just say things like that about the man who composed one of the most beautiful lieds of the Romantic Era and expect me to know what on earth you’re talking about.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never had a discussion on Schubert’s sexuality? I don’t see how that’s possible, since no composer’s sexuality has been scrutinized more than his, but the music world basically agrees that he was gay.”

Kurt gives a short hum of thoughtfulness. “That makes sense. You can feel the gay yearning in all of his song cycles. They’re like the  _ Careless Whisper _ of the Romantic Era.”

Blaine doesn’t expect to laugh so hard, but it takes a surprising amount of self control to not spit out his drink.

“Really though, did you ever get to sing  _ Du Bist?” _

Blaine shakes his head. He might’ve heard it once or twice sung by a classmate, but he never sang it himself.

“The poetry is absolutely stunning. It’s about this person who’s found someone to settle down with and they’re saying to them:  _ You are my peace. You are the reason I look forward to coming home. When I look at you, all the chaos of the world is silenced, because you alone illuminate my eyes.” _

“Wow…” Blaine says in awe. That really is one of the most beautiful sentiments he’s ever heard; one he hopes to find himself one day. “Schubert was one of the lucky ones, huh?”

“Well, his best friend was exiled from Vienna and he did die of Syphilis, so maybe not  _ that _ lucky.”

Once again, Blaine sputters out a laugh. Kurt’s sense of humor is a welcomed surprise, much different than what Blaine envisioned it to be when he walked into rehearsal that first day of school a few weeks ago.

They get coffee every day for the rest of that week, and surprisingly enough, Blaine finds himself looking forward to their outings more and more often. 

* * *

Kurt knows he can’t take another day like this. He just  _ can’t _ . His heart begins to race—not in the good way, like when he’s around Blaine, but in the horrifying, terror induced way. Pressure builds up in his head and throat and bridge of his nose at the thought of having to go through this again and  _ alone _ . He’s barely been student teaching for a month, he isn’t equipped to handle a class by himself yet.

He’d thought things would go just fine when Mr. Davidson had texted him he had things to do and wouldn’t be in today, but class ended up being more that Kurt could take.

When warm up was over, the kids suggested they start with a certain piece, and Kurt appreciated the initiative, so he agreed. However, as the class went on, most of the students began talking over him, not listening, pointing fingers at other sections. 

The few moments Kurt had their attention was spent staring at the score of music while his brain frantically tried to make a decision about what to fix. Their intonation? Vowels? Tone? Pitches? There was so much to work, where was he even supposed to begin?

And the substitute had hardly been any help, aside from informing him that she wouldn’t be there tomorrow since Mr. Davidson hadn’t requested one, which was  _ illegal _ .

He draws in a deep breath and warms his hands on his thermos filled with coffee, relaxing his back against the chair in the lounge. For the first time since starting his degree, he feels doubt start to spread in his mind like the young seedling of a parasitic plant. 

This was one day. How is he supposed to do this for the  _ rest of his life?  _

Feeling tears pool up behind his closed eyelids, he tries to calm himself down.  _ Keep it together, Kurt. This isn’t NYU, you can’t have a breakdown in the middle of a communal eating space. _

“Kur—Mr. Hummel?”

Kurt wipes at his eyes and sniffles hard one last time before turning to see the familiar face. “Oh, um, hi,” he says meekly, knowing that his puffy eyes are a dead giveaway.

Blaine quickly walks to the table and sets his things down, concern etched on his face. “What happened?”

“Nothing and everything.” Kurt shrugs. “Mr. Davidson wasn’t here today and I thought that’d be a good thing, but…” he shakes his head. “The kids were questioning me, and that made me question myself, and none of them were listening and I just felt like I had no control. It was like this glimpse into my future, and I realized that one day, it’s going to be just  _ me _ in a classroom. It kind of hit me, you know? That I’m going to be in charge of forty some kids. It was really overwhelming and I just… don’t know if I’m cut out to be a teacher.”

Blaine nods along as Kurt speaks, giving him some time to process his feelings a little more. After a few seconds pass, he finally responds. 

“In all honesty, neither did I when I did my student teaching. Hell, even when I started actually teaching. It is scary, having all these kids look at you for direction when it feels like you don’t know what you’re doing… but just remind yourself that you  _ do _ know what you’re doing. Maybe you don’t have every single detail planned out, but you definitely know more than them. That’s why you’re here.

“There will be a moment, Kurt, when it all sort of falls into place. It’ll hit you, like,  _ Yes. I can do this for the rest of my life. I  _ want _ to do this for the rest of my life.  _ It’s kind of like an awakening.

“You had  _ one _ bad day. And truthfully, you’re going to have a lot more. But you can’t give up before the magic happens.” He reaches out and gently places his hand on Kurt’s. “And it’ll happen, I promise.”

Kurt looks at their hands, then back at Blaine. He smiles and sniffs a little. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Okay, everybody jump back to measure forty one, I want to double check the tenor line there. I’m not convinced that you have those pitches.” 

Mr. Davidson is still out, except this time he doesn’t call a sub in. Which, Kurt remembers, is illegal since student teachers are not supposed to be left unsupervised without a verified teacher or substitute.

One of the tenors who was a sort of ringleader in undermining Kurt yesterday raises his hand. “I think the tenors were  _ fine _ . If there was an issue it was probably the Altos.” 

From the middle of the Alto section, Mariana shoots the boy a glare.

Kurt lets out a steadying breath.  _ Remember, you know more than them, even if it doesn’t feel like it.  _

“Alright,” he finally says. “Raise your hand if you’ve ever graduated from high school.” Kurt raises his hand, then makes a point to look at the empty space behind him. He looks back at the choir with a phony and exaggerated confused look. “Just me? Okay, interesting.”

There are some scattered giggles from the risers. “Keep your hand raised if you’ve spent seven semesters studying a degree in music education.” Once again, Kurt is the only one who has his hand in the air. 

He gives the choir a crooked smile. “You are a choir full of bright young singers with loads of potential. I  _ know _ you guys are good. I want to help you guys become great, and that’s only going to happen if you trust me the way I trust you guys.” He pauses for a moment. “Do we have a deal?”

He’s met with a sea of nodding heads and murmurs of agreement. He smiles. “Good. Measure forty one.”

* * *

“So, why did you opt for this place instead of our usual again?” Blaine asks.

They’re sitting at a local mexican restaurant Kurt, Finn, and Rachel used to frequent after TMEA Audition days or UIL competitions.

“I told you, to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what, exactly?”

“You. And the awesome speech you gave me the other day that inspired me… I had a moment, Blaine. I-I don’t think it was  _ the _ moment, but it was definitely something. For the first time since I started student teaching, I felt like a real teacher. I have you to thank for that.”

Blaine’s gaze seems to stare right through Kurt’s eyes. “You have no one to credit but yourself, Kurt. You’re amazing. And I know Mr. Davidson doesn’t tell you that enough, so I figure someone else ought to.”

The waitress quickly drops the check they had requested a few moments ago, and Blaine makes a move for it before Kurt waves a hand in a shooing motion. “I’ve got it, this time.”

“Kurt, I can—”

“You’ve paid for my coffee every time we’ve gone out,” Kurt says, and he almost makes it through the entire sentence without feeling blood rush to his cheeks. Almost. “It’s the least I can do, really.”

When dinner is over and done with, Kurt shoves his hands into his pocket as they walk through the parking lot back to their cars. 

“So… I had a really good time tonight,” he says, nonchalantly kicking a rock to keep his mind off his shaking hands.

Blaine beams at him. “So did I,” he says. “And every other day this week. I really like talking to you, Kurt. Your future choirs have no idea how lucky they are to have you.”

They stop in front of the drivers side of Kurt’s car. “Well, it’s very reassuring to have your vote of confidence.” He swallows nervously. ”I really, really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Blaine.”

Blaine chuckles bashfully and ducks his head. “All I did was lend a willing ear every now and then.”

“Yeah, but it makes a world of difference.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, and he’s pretty sure Blaine’s gaze darts to his lips before landing back up to Kurt’s eyes again.

He likes Blaine. God, he  _ really _ likes Blaine. Even if he wasn’t the only tolerable person in the choral department, Kurt would like Blaine. It’s just a happy coincidence that he’s there every day to make things a little better, a little brighter.

Maybe it’s the confidence from the successful rehearsal, or the fact that he hasn’t had to deal with Mr. Davidson in two days, or hell, maybe it’s even a sugar rush from the cheesecake they ordered, but Kurt decides to just go for it. 

He’s not usually this forward, but he’s also never felt potential like this with anybody else. They haven’t been going out together very long, but Kurt already knows how good this thing between them could be.

He takes a breath, flutters his eyes closed, and leans forward.

His nose gently bumps Blaine’s for a moment before it’s met with the cold February air all too soon. Kurt opens his eyes, perplexed when he sees Blaine standing a foot further away than he was just a second ago, staring back at him with horrified eyes.

“What?” Kurt asks, holding a hand over his mouth. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

“Oh no,” Blaine mumbles to himself, eyebrows furrowing in. “This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have…”

Kurt watches Blaine drag a hand down his face and the reality comes down on him like a bucket of ice—shockingly cold dread that quickly morphs into white hot embarrassment.

“Oh my god… Oh, my _god.”_ Kurt presses a hand over his eyes and turns his head upward, as if that gesture alone could turn him as invisible as he wishes he was. 

_ Oh god, don’t look at him. Don’t look at him until your face stops being the same color as Dakota Johnson’s September 2018 Vogue cover dress.  _

“I’m confused,” he finally says, admitting defeat in the battle over his reddening complexion and meeting Blaine’s still horrified gaze. He crosses his arms over his chest, grabbing his elbows on either side. “Was this not a date?” 

“I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, I was just trying to be friendly.”

“You… paid for my coffee,” Kurt points out, mostly just thinking out loud. 

“Yeah, because I know you’re saving up for college,” Blaine explains. “I just—you seemed to be having a hard time fitting in and I wanted to help you out, you know?”

“Awesome,” he mutters in response. “That’s exactly what every guy wants to hear: that all the dates we’ve been on have been charity work.”

“I didn’t know you thought—I’m sure you’re a lovely boy…”

_ Oh, my god, did he just call me a  _ boy? 

“But… you’re a student.”

Kurt freezes, and his awkwardness becomes bewilderment. “Yeah… in college? It’s not like I’m one of  _ your _ students.”

“I-I know, but I’m still a  _ teacher,”  _ Blaine contests, “and it feels a little... wrong to date someone so young.” 

Kurt lets out a laugh that has no trace of humor in it. “Young? I’m twenty-two!” He’s not sure what he’s expecting to gain from this argument at this point, because  _ obviously _ things aren’t going anywhere with Blaine, romantically speaking. Maybe he can still leave with some sort of pride in tact.

“I’m sorry, Kurt,” Blaine continues to profusely apologize. “I was just trying to guide you and be friendly, not lead you on.”

“Well congrats, you did a real banged up job.” Kurt huffs, suddenly thankful that they took separate cars this time. He all but jumps into his car and takes off, still feeling the heat on his face the entire ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: cmon, you know it aint me if there aint a /little/ drama
> 
> credit to Adri for that Dakota johnson reference lol


	5. Solo and Ensemble

Santana is  _ howling _ with laughter. “He thinks you’re too young for him?” she gasps between fits of giggles.

“I never thought I’d say this, but you make me miss Rachel,” Kurt grumbles.

“And you tried to  _ kiss _ him?”

Kurt groans and throws his head back. Why on earth did he even tell Santana anything? 

Right, because Rachel is in New York, a thousand miles away, prepping for her first Off-Broadway role and Kurt is… in a Pizza Parlor being laughed at by his only tolerable coworker, recently rejected, and dealing with the worst mentor teacher on earth. 

“Didn’t I say we were going to have another Finn situation on our hands?” Santana points out. Kurt hopes that the universe still has some karma left in it, and that her cheeks will at least be a little sore from all the teasing.

“This is  _ not _ another Finn situation. I thought they were dates!” he defends himself.

“Did he ever say they were dates?”

“Well… not in so many words…”

“Okay,” Santana sighs, finally coming down from her laughter and leaning on the checkout counter. “Think back to every interaction you’ve had with Blaine so far.”

“Where is this going?”

“Just, trust me. Now, in each one of those situations, swap him out for me.” 

Kurt furrows his eyebrows but complies, imagining he and Santana eating lunch together, going to a coffee shop together and talking about school and—the realization slaps him across the face. His conversations with Blaine never even touched flirtatious territory. For christ’s sake, Blaine never even asked Kurt if he was  _ single _ . 

“Oh my god.” He buries his face in his hands. “I made it all up in my head again, didn’t I?”

Santana just heaves a deep breath and claps him on the back.

* * *

Kurt’s standing in the choir room with Mr. Davidson, a boy who seems to be good friends with Mariana—Kyle, Kurt remembers—and… Blaine, sitting at the piano.

Part of it is embarrassment, part of it is annoyance, and all of it is uncomfortable because he  _ so _ does not want to be in the same room as Blaine right now. But Mr. Davidson wants Kurt to observe him giving a lesson, and Kurt needs observation hours anyways. 

It’s fifteen minutes in and they haven’t even gotten past the first few measures because Kyle can’t get the opening pitches right.

Mr. Davidson is raising his voice, “It’s not that hard, Kyle. Do Re-Mi-Re-Do, Do-Re-Mi-Re-Do.” Kyle tries to mimic him, but adds in an extra Mi. Mr. Davidson pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t put in the work for you, Kyle.”

“I promise, I’ve been practicing. It’s just not sticking,” the student pleads. “It’s just all very new to me—”

“You got your solo back in December, it’s the first week of February. I don’t want excuses, Kyle. The competition is  _ tomorrow _ .”

“Mr. Davidson,” Blaine tries to interrupt, but the choir director either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t want to.

“So either you fix this mess and stop acting like a moron, or you’re not going tomorrow because I will not have you embarrass me—”

“ _ Mr. Davidson _ ,” Blaine says—almost snaps, really. Kurt nearly jumps in surprise. There's a little more urgency and frustration in his voice than Kurt’s used to. He’s never heard Blaine so upset, struggling so hard to keep his composure. Then, he adds, in a more hushed voice with eyes glaring down Mr. Davidson. “I think we should remember that his IEP calls for accommodations of extra time for reading and processing. We should extend that accomodation to private lessons as well.”

Finally, Kurt understands, and he grits his teeth hard. An IEP is an Individualized Education Program—a tool designed to modify lessons for students with learning disabilities. Finally, Kurt understands what a colossal  _ dick _ Mr. Davidson is being. 

He doesn’t understand. What kind of awful human being would go out of their way to make a student feel the way he makes his students feel? What kind of teacher doesn’t take into consideration their student’s extra needs? Who on  _ earth _ let this man become a teacher in charge of eighty children?

“Kurt, what do you think?” Mr. Davidson asks, clearly fishing for support.

“I think Mr. Anderson is right,” Kurt says without hesitation, trying to keep the flames from shooting off the sides of his face when his mentor teacher rolls his eyes. “We can’t expect every kid to learn the same way because not every student—”

The doors to the choir room open and Melodie walks in.

“Oh thank god,” Mr. Davidson says. “Someone manageable. Melodie, come work with me.” He turns to Kurt and Blaine. “You two, deal with him,” and gestures loosely towards Kyle, whose tan face has gone scarlet as he stares at the floor, shuffling his feet.

As soon as Mr. Davidson leaves to the adjacent practice room, Kyle speaks up. “I’m not an idiot, I promise,” he mumbles. 

“Nobody thinks that,” Kurt reassures him.

“Clearly  _ he  _ does,” Kyle says, and jerks his head in the direction of the practice room. “And it’s only that part of the song, I swear! It’s just… reading normal things is… hard for me. That’s why I didn’t want to join choir, because I was embarrassed. But Mari convinced me to because I like to sing and she even convinced me to do this stupid competition and I shouldn’t have because when there’s so much black and white on the page everything just gets all jumbled up and—” Kurt can hear the rising frustration in the student’s voice. “Dyslexia just really sucks.”

“Okay... alright,” Kurt says, gears in his head already turning. He extends his hand out towards Kyle. “Do you mind if I mark your music?”

Kyle shrugs. “Go for it.”

Kurt takes the binder with one hand and fishes through his backpack leaning against the edge of the piano with the other. He pulls out a triangular highlighter with three ends, a different color on each point. He marks the notes on the opening line each with a different color—Do with green, Re with red, and Mi with orange.

He returns the binder to Kyle. “Try singing the opening line one more time. Don’t worry about words or solfege, just hand sign and really focus on the colors and the direction they’re moving.”

Kyle nods then looks to Blaine, a cue to start the intro. Kyle comes in, singing on words and gets everything correct.

“Good!” Kurt beams at his student. “I know I said one more time, but I’m a music teacher so I never really mean one more time,” he says. Kyle and Blaine chuckle. “So try it again, just to make sure it wasn’t an accident.”

They run through it a few more times before Kyle asks to try the whole song without looking at his music. 

He does, and when he’s done, Kyle beams up (down, really, and Kurt realizes how strange it is to have a student so much taller than you) at them. “Thank you Mr. H, thank you Mr. A,” he says before turning to leave.

Kurt lets out a little satisfied breath. Kyle is going to be just fine for tomorrow.

“How did you think of that?” Blaine asks.

He shrugs, still staring at the door and radiating pride. “My brother’s dyslexic. Even though he had a great ear and voice, he struggled with reading music. Once we realized he was dyslexic, our teacher tried some things and the highlighter thing seemed to help.

“You could kind of tell that most teachers didn’t want to put in the extra effort it took to help him, but it was never like that in choir. That’s part of why I want to teach. I want to be better than them. Every kid matters.”

Kurt turns to finally face Blaine, who's looking up at him with a mixture of surprise, respect, and… something else he can’t quite put his finger on. Like he doesn’t quite yet have all the pieces to the puzzle that Kurt is. 

He’s suddenly too aware of the heat crawling up his face. Is he just supposed to forget that the guy sitting there is the same one who blatantly rejected him a week ago for the dumbest reason on earth?

He clears his throat and breaks their stare, scraping up his binder from the top of the piano. “I better get going—” he tucks the binder underneath his arm and makes a break for the door.

“Kurt, wait. You don’t think we should talk about..?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says tightly. “But what do I know?” He rolls his shoulders sarcastically. “I’m just a student, right?”

“That’s not what I—” he tries, but Kurt’s already halfway out the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Anderson.”

* * *

The competition is held in the UTSA music building on the fourth weekend of the semester (all of which, really flew by). Music majors from various organizations have volunteered their Saturday time to help the competition run smoothly and are bustling around in the midst of the crowds of high schoolers warming themselves up and running through rough spots in their pieces.

East is scheduled to start around one o'clock in the afternoon, and Melodie’s the first to go. After she leaves the room, Mr. Davidson decides to take his lunch break, despite the fact that the eleven other students haven’t sung their solo yet, leaving them in Kurt’s supervision, all dressed up to the nines for their performances.

Kurt’s just come back from a quick bathroom break between performances when he hears Melodie’s voice from the hallway, just outside the judge’s room. Kyle has his hands on Mariana’s shoulder’s while she looks back at him, terrified and shaking her head. Melodie is standing by them, arms crossed and scowling.

“God,” Melodie huffs, rolling her eyes. “If she doesn’t want to suck it up and just sing like the eleven other people here today, maybe she shouldn’t. Let her be a coward.”

“Melodie,” Kyle snarls. “Do you  _ ever  _ shut the fuck up?”

“Kyle!” Kurt scolds him. Based on their startled expressions, the three students finally notice him standing before them. He folds his arms across his chest sternly while Kyle looks back at him with horrified eyes. “I don’t care what Melodie said, there is no excuse for that kind of language in a school setting.” He turns to Melodie, watching the smug look be wiped right off her face. “And you… I don’t ever want to hear you talk about your classmate like that again. You and Kyle go cool off while I talk to Mariana.”

They look down at their shoes and head down the hall towards the lobby.

When they’re gone, he places a comforting hand on Mariana’s shoulder. “You okay?”

She gnaws on her bottom lip. “No. But not because of Melodie. I’m used to her by now. I’m just… I’m really nervous, Mr. H.”

“You’ve done this competition before,” Kurt tries reassuring her. 

“Yeah, but never with a class one solo!” she whines. “The judge’s expectations are higher for songs like mine.”

“Listen, Mariana. A judge can tell when a student has put in the work. And if anyone here has put in the work, it’s you. You spent every single day after school coming to work on your own or getting help when you need it. You can do this.”

The door to the lecture room opens and Blaine peeps his head out the door. “He’s ready for you, Mari,” he calls with an encouraging smile.

She looks up to Kurt with an expression that begs,  _ Save me. _ “You’re going to do great,” he assures her. She swallows and smooths her dress down before taking a deep breath in, and walks through the door. Blaine holds the door for her and gives Kurt a timid smile that, despite himself, he returns, before Blaine closes it behind him.

As soon as the door shuts, Kurt turns and heads down the hallway to find Melodie on a lounge chair, legs curled up to her chest and glaring down at the floor.

He twists his mouth at her. “Why do you have such a problem with Mariana?”

Melodie looks up at him, flabbergasted. “Because she doesn’t even  _ try _ ,” she complains. “She’s doesn’t try the way I do and everyone else in the choir still thinks she’s so cool. She’s not the one who made all-state, but everyone voted for her for president and everyone wants to be  _ her _ friend and has no problem leaving  _ me _ out.”

A wave of pity passes through Kurt. Melodie is just a kid—misguided as hell, but just a kid whose feeling left out and out of place and is lashing out because of it. 

“Listen, Mel,” he starts. “I know how hard you work at your craft. So does everyone else. Especially Mariana.”

She rolls her eyes and grumbles, “It doesn’t show.” 

“Well, did you ever maybe think that singing doesn’t come as naturally to others as it does to you? You are very naturally gifted—and I’m not saying that to minimize the work you do, but some people have to work twice as hard to get where you start off.”

Her hardened expression breaks a little. “I guess I never really thought of it like that.”

“Right,” he says. “And do you really think Mariana got all her friends by being good at choir?”

“I mean, obviously not,” she winces at her own words. “Sorry. Old habits.”

“I think she’s popular with the choir because she’s open and friendly to everybody, because she supports and encourages them.” Melodie looks down at her flats. “Choir is a team, and I think you two have much more to gain from each other by being friends, or at the very least, friendly with your teammates.”

Melodie nods. “Yeah,” she agrees. “I’m sorry, Mr. H.”

“I don’t think I’m the one who needs to hear that.”

“I know.”

By the time their conversation wraps, Mariana is done with her solo. She and Blaine walk out of the room. She looks nervous, and Blaine gives her a reassuring smile before leaning over and telling her something that makes her break out in a smile. She runs off to greet Kyle with a big hug.

Kurt can’t stop his mouth from twisting up, even if it does fade a little when he gathers any courage he has left and walks up to Blaine. 

“Hey,” he exhales.

Blaine looks pleasantly surprised. “Oh, um, hey… Are you finally over what happened last week?” he asks with hesitant banter.

“Not really,” Kurt says shortly and a bit huffily. “But…” He worries his lips between his teeth. “I’m dying to know how Mariana did.”

Blaine’s mouth curves up ever so slightly.

“Did she do her dynamics?” Kurt asks. “Was her sound forward, like we worked on? I know she was feeling nervous, and sometimes when I’m nervous I tend to  _ over _ -hydrate—”

“Kurt,” Blaine says gently, and Kurt stops in the middle of a breath.

He swallows. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize for caring,” Blaine says calmly. Kurt feels the tension spill off his shoulders. “She did fantastic. I think it’s safe to expect a Division One medal.” 

Kurt’s mouth spreads out wide. “You know, I’d be proud of her anyways, just by how far she’s come. But she  _ earned _ that medal. If anyone deserves one, it’s her.”

“She didn’t do it on her own, though.” Blaine points out. “I meant it when I said you’d make a great teacher,” he gestures over to Kyle and Mariana, who have now been joined by Melodie. “They’re proof of that.”

“Mr. H, we’re going to the food court for lunch!” Mariana calls out. “We’ll be right back!”

Kurt just nods approvingly before turning back to face Blaine.

He thinks back to the lecture he just gave Melodie and feels like a Grade A Hypocrite. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate that,” he says, giving Blaine the most genuine smile he can muster. 

“I uh, just wanted to say that I’m sorry I wasn’t more clear about the terms of our… relationship,” Blaine continues. “I get why you’re mad—”

Kurt stills himself. His stomach bubbles with the smallest hint of guilt.

“But I still would like to be friends, Kurt.”

Kurt sighs. “I’m not…  _ mad _ at you,” he finally admits. “I’m more embarrassed than anything. And I’m sorry if I’ve been a little prickly lately.”

Blaine smiles. “It’s all good. I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Monday,” Kurt confirms.

* * *

**_A Moment of Melodie, Mariana, and Kyle_ **

Melodie takes a deep breath and walks up to Mariana and Kyle.

“Hey,” she says, interrupting what seems to be Kyle congratulatiung Mariana. They slowly turn around to face the sophomore. Kyle eyes her suspiciously and leans in closer to Mariana, almost as if to shield her.

Mariana lightly knocks her elbow against Kyle, a signal to let his guard down.

Melodie sighs. “I just… wanted to let you know that I hope you did well in there.” Mariana raises an eyebrow that prompts Melodie to reluctantly add, “and… I’m sorry for everything I said earlier. You’re actually really smart. And a good leader.”

“I’m aware,” Mariana says with phony conceitedness and a sarcastic shrug. “But thanks for the reminder. I’d say that I hope you did well in there, too, but… we all know you did.”

“You do?” Melodie asks, genuinely surprised by the support from the girl she’d been so awful to.

“Yeah, dude,” Kyle jumps in. “Everyone knows you’re a really good singer. We just think you’d be cooler if you were like—”

“Less intense?” she tries to finish for him.

“No, I like your energy. It would just be cool if more of it was, you know, directed positively towards others,” he explains. “Speaking of, I’m sorry for telling you to shut the fuck up.”

She shrugs. “I kind of don’t know when to shut the fuck up, so… not uncalled for. I’ve just… always been this like, weirdly ambitious kid who’s too much and never really fit in anywhere. I always thought it was because I just hadn’t found my crowd yet, and that it would change when I joined this choir. When it didn’t… I took it out on y’all because I couldn’t admit that the problem was me…” Melodie can feel Kyle and Mariana’s pitiful stares on her and feels her cheeks start to heat. So she pulls herself together and stands up straighter. “But that still doesn’t excuse me being a colossal bitch,” she adds in an attempt to lighten the mood.

They stand in a lukewarm silence for a moment before Mariana speaks up. “Listen, we were just about to grab some lunch. Do you want to come with?”

“Yeah, sure!” The sophomore bounces on her toes a little.

Mariana turns behind them to face their chaperone. “Mr. H, we’re going to the food court for lunch!” she calls out. “We’ll be right back!”

Mr. Hummel gives them a nod of approval and turns back to talk to their accompanist.

“Okay,” Melodie says, voice brightening. “Am I the only one who’s noticed that they’re awfully chummy?”

Kyle furrows his eyebrows. “Who?”

Mariana rolls her eyes. “She’s talking about how Mr. H and Mr. A are clearly into each other.”

“Oof,” Kyle says. “Don’t tell Izzy that, she’ll lose her shit.”

“Who’s Izzy?” Melodie asks.

“Isabel Izaguirre? Senior in the Alto section with the long hair and highlights?”

“Yeah, she’s got a  _ huge _ crush on Mr. Hummel,” Mariana confirms.

“Well that’s not going to blow over well once she finds out they’re dating,” Melodie says.

“You think they’re dating?” Kyle asks dubiously.

She shrugs. “If they’re not, it’s only a matter of time.”

“How can you tell?”

“I’ve never told anyone this, but I’m a little psychic. I knew Mrs. Flores was pregnant a month before she told our class.”

Kyle’s eyes widen in amazement. “Woah! Do you think the basketball team is going to make it to the playoffs next season?”

She puts her mouth to one side. “Honey, I don’t need to be psychic to tell you that’s not likely.”

Mariana rolls her eyes. “Can we stop gossiping about our teachers and pick up the pace? I don’t eat when I’m nervous, so I haven’t eaten all day. I need a burger.”


	6. Mental Health Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: this is like no plot and pure fluff yolo and no RAgrets

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

When Blaine walks into the choir room the following Monday, Mr. Davidson is finishing warm ups with the varsity choir. He only notices this because usually Kurt’s the one running warm ups, while the actual choir teacher hides out in his office for a few extra minutes doing god knows what on his computer. 

After class, Mariana comes up to Blaine, worry etched onto her face. “Did Mr. H tell you why he was out today? We miss the way he does warm up.”

Blaine shakes his head. “I didn’t even know he’d be out today,” he answers honestly. 

But he’s still curious, of course. Kurt hasn’t missed a single day of student teaching yet. On top of that, the last time they’d spoken, they’d promised to see each other on Monday. Well, it’s Monday and Blaine finds himself unexpectedly missing his lunch buddy. 

When the students leave, he takes it upon himself to ask Mr. Davidson. The older teacher is already getting ready to head out for his break.

“Mr. Davidson,” he asks. “Did Kurt tell you why he’d be out?”

The choir director nods his head nonchalantly. “Yeah, he texted me this morning saying he felt sick.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m sure he’ll be back by tomorrow.”

He’s not back by the next day, though, and worry begins to form in the pit of Blaine’s stomach. He’s not sure why he didn’t think of it sooner, but he whips out his phone and pulls up Kurt’s contact.

**New Message:** **  
** **To: Kurt H.** **  
** **Hey, just checking in. Mr. Davidson told me you were sick. How are you feeling?**

It’s not very long before he gets a reply. 

**New Message:** **  
** **From: Kurt H.** **  
** _ Not much better. Might be the flu. Not sure how long I’ll be out. Thanks for checking up on me, though! I appreciate it :) _

In the three years Blaine has been working for San Antonio ISD, he’s never had to call for a substitute. He hasn’t had any family emergencies, powers through any minor colds he gets, and schedules doctor’s check up appointments during breaks. He’s even been known to give up his state and local sick days for those who need to take extended maternity leave.

Despite all that, something compels him to pick up the phone in his office and call for a sub for the rest of the day. 

He heads out to his car and before shifting the gear to drive, quickly texts his mom if she still has that chicken noodle soup recipe.

* * *

The loud knocking on the front door startles Kurt from his spot on the living room couch. He tosses his phone onto the cushions carelessly (stalking his New York friends’ Snapchat stories had proved to be wildly unhelpful in making him feel motivated to get out of the house again) and takes the throw blanket draped over his shoulders with him to go answer the door, passing the upright piano on his way.

He’s not sure who it could be—his dad doesn’t come home from the garage until after five, and he hasn’t ordered any takeout… today… yet. He hopes to god (ironically) that it’s not yet another bible thumper hoping to recruit him into one of the many churches around the area.

The knocking comes again, a little more intent than before. “Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming!” he grumbles.

He yanks the door open to reveal Blaine, standing there with a brown paper bag in one hand, and a clear container of soup in the other, already running his mouth off at a million miles a minute.

“Okay, so whenever I got sick as a kid, my mom would make this  _ killer _ chicken noodle soup. So I asked her if she still had that recipe and as it turns out, it was from a can this entire time. I felt a little bit like my entire childhood was a lie, but I powered through it and looked up one from scratch and I did my best,” he shoves the Tupperware container into Kurt’s unsuspecting arms.

Kurt, confused as ever, steps aside to let Blaine in. He does, without ever breaking his train of thought.

“It’s still warm. I also brought,” he reaches into the paper bag and pulls out a container of vaporub, a can of ginger-ale, a bag of cough drops, and a pack of chamomile tea, “the essentials for every vocalist to survive the flu.”

Kurt stares at Blaine—the artillery of anti-cold and flu materials piled high up in his arms—and then glances down at the chicken soup in his own hands. 

Blaine might actually be the sweetest person he’s ever met.

“I um… really appreciate all this, but… I don’t have the flu,” Kurt admits sheepishly, setting the soup aside on the counter.

At Blaine’s confused look, he expands a little, feeling his face redden. “I just kind of needed a break.”

“From school?”

“Not exactly,” Kurt admits, avoiding Blaine’s gaze and starting to roll the fibers of the blanket between his fingers. “It’s more like… I know I wasn’t born and raised in New York, but I made a home for myself there. I was in all these organizations and constantly involved in the campus community. I haven’t seen my friends in a really long time, when I was used to seeing them every day.”

“You’re feeling homesick,” Blaine realizes. 

Kurt shrugs, hiking the blanket higher up on his shoulders. “I guess I am… and it doesn’t help that it’s recruitment week for my Greek organization. That was something I looked forward to every year, and I was always so excited to help out and participate in. But now I have to watch as my friends continue that tradition without me and… it’s just all kind of a bummer. I honestly didn’t know if I had the energy to deal with Mr. Davidson’s intense negativity. So I kind of… took a moment to mentally prepare myself. Maybe watch some movies later…”

Blaine is quiet for a while, and Kurt’s beginning to regret saying anything by the time the curly haired man finally responds. “I get where you’re coming from, but… we can't just sit here and watch movies all day…”

Kurt deflates like a day old carnival balloon. He’s about to open his mouth to contest that he can certainly damn well try, when Blaine’s mouth curves upwards and he continues.

“Not without proper snacks.”

“What?”

Blaine jerks his head towards the door. “Come on, I’ll drive. There’s no way we’re going to make it through a movie marathon without getting the munchies, so come on.”

“I…” Kurt is at a loss for words. He was expecting judgement or at least some condescension. Instead he got the last thing he expected and the one thing he needed: a friend.

Before he can stop himself, he’s pulling Blaine in his arms and contracting his arms tightly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

* * *

After they pick up some snacks and a box of instant cupcake mix (against Kurt’s many protests and claims of being able to make better ones from scratch), they head back to Kurt’s place and immediately start baking.

“Can you beat those eggs for me?”

“I just want to know what the eggs ever did to you,” Blaine replies cheekily. Kurt spins around from the counter to give him a faux-unamused look. Blaine throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, fine, but just know that I am a pacifist doing this against my will.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kurt mutters, a breathy laugh escaping his lips. “I’m gonna put on some music,” he says, heading over to connect his phone to his little speaker. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved the Chopin nocturnes we listened to on the way to and from the store, but I need something to sing along to.”

Kurt puts on one of his new favorite albums and when the vocals come in, Blaine snaps his head up from mixing the batter to give Kurt a mildly judgemental expression covered by an amused smile.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Kurt defends himself, heading over to Blaine’s side to help him pour the batter into the metal molds. “Taylor Swift’s music is fun and singable, and I learned a long time ago that if you take music too seriously, it stops being enjoyable. Every song tells a different story and I think that’s really cool.”

Kurt is busy putting one tray in the oven and misses Blaine’s softening expression when he asks, “What story does this one tell?” 

“I think it’s about a relationship that’s sort of doomed from the start,” Kurt says, popping his head up while Blaine slides the other tray in the oven. “My favorite line is _ I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you.  _ I’m a huge sucker for a play on words.”

“It kind of reminds me of this old movie with Jennifer Love Hewitt where she’s a con artist.  _ Heartbreakers _ , I think.”

“Can’t say I've heard of it,“ Kurt says with a shrug.

“The song  _ is  _ catchy, I’ll give it that,” Blaine admits, nodding his head along to the beat.

“I know, right?” Kurt exclaims, holding up the dirty whisk. The chorus comes on and Kurt tosses his head up, singing into the whisk like a microphone, shaking his head to the beat and jumping a little on his toes. If he were with anyone else he’d be embarrassed, but after the incident after dinner, it’s not like he could make any more of a fool of himself in Blaine’s presence, so to hell with it.

Blaine laughs with him for a moment before his eyebrows perk up a little. “Oh, that’s an interesting chord progression, for pop at least.”

Kurt nods. “Yeah, I think it’s a one chord and then a one-seven four-two inversion, but I’m not sure.”

Blaine heads to the piano in the living room. “I have to find out, it’ll drive me crazy,” he says before taking a seat and fiddling with the piano until figuring out what key the song is in. He plays a few chords and listens to the music intermittently, until what he plays lines up with the music playing. Then he adds some embellishments and bass notes to make it sound fuller.

“Take it away, Kurt,” Blaine says, grinning up at the man standing over his shoulder. 

Kurt grins, not needing to be told twice to sing along to one of his favorite songs. 

_ It’s new, the shape of your body _ _   
_ _ It’s blue, the feeling I got  _ _   
_ _ And it’s ooh, woah _ _   
_ _ It’s a cruel summer _

As the song comes to a close, Blaine adds an overly dramatic flourish on the keys. Kurt teasingly rolls his eyes. “Okay, now you’re just showing off.”

“Uh, music is inherently performative, we’re all show offs,” Blaine teases back.

The album moves on to the next song and Kurt gives an “Aw,” putting his hand over his heart. “Try as I might, I’m still just a silly romantic. This song just gets me, please tell me you know it.”

“I mean, I’ve heard it a few times. I don’t live under a rock.”

“Mmm-hmm, says the guy who listens to nocturnes on the drive to the store.”

“Weren’t you the one getting all worked up about a century-old German song?”

“Good taste is timeless,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Now, scooch over.” 

He takes a seat on the piano bench next to Blaine and starts playing the bass notes a few times. Blaine watches, and once he’s figured out the chords, adds higher patterns. After a few measures, Kurt starts singing along, mostly out of habit.

_ We can leave the christmas lights up till January _ _   
_ _ This is our house, we make the rules _ _   
_ _ And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear _ _   
_ _ Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years? _

On the chorus, Blaine joins in with the lower harmonies.

**_Can I go where you go?_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Can we always be this close, forever and ever?_ ** **_  
_ ** **_And ah, take me out, and take me home_ ** **_  
_ ** **_You're my, my, my, my lover_ **

**Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?** **  
** **With every guitar string scar on my hand** **  
** **I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover**

Kurt barely makes it through the bridge without giggling when Blaine excitedly says, “Is that a secondary dominant I hear?” 

_ What a nerd,  _ Kurt thinks affectionately.  _ God, Blaine’s this huge dork who accidentally grew up hot.  _ Thinking back to everything Blaine’s done for him today, he adds  _ And ridiculously sweet _ to that sentiment.

_ My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue _ _   
_ _ All's well that ends well to end up with you _ _   
_ _ Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover _

**And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me** **  
** _ And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover _

**_Can I go where you go?_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Can we always be this close forever and ever?_ ** **_  
_ ** **_And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)_ ** **_  
_ ** **_You're my, my, my, my_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Oh, you're my, my, my, my_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover_ **

Kurt isn’t the best pianist, so he had been very focused on getting his fingers to land on the right notes. It comes as a surprise when the song ends and he turns his head to Blaine, only to find that the other man is already staring back at him with an almost euphoric smile on his face. Kurt swallows and tries not to look at Blaine’s lips even though he thinks Blaine’s eyes might dart down to look at his and— _shit,_ _I’m imagining things again…_

Kurt doesn’t get the chance to see if he’s right because the harsh sound of the smoke alarm going off startles him. In his surprise, he slams his hands down on the piano, which rings out a discordant noise.

“Shit, the cupcakes!” Kurt suddenly remembers that he forgot to set the  _ damn timer.  _ He never forgets things like that, but he supposes he was too busy mooning over Blaine.

Blaine is already on the move as well, and they reach the kitchen in time to see smoke seeping out of the edges of the oven. Kurt grabs a pair of oven mitts and opens the door, fanning at the smoke until it dissipates in the air.

Kurt gapes at the burnt cupcakes in the oven disappointedly as Blaine takes the other set of mitts and pulls them out, setting them on the counter.

After a few seconds of silence, Blaine shrugs. “I think they came out  _ great.” _

Kurt brings a hand up to cover his laugh. “In my twenty-two years, I’ve never burned anything. A day with you and my record is  _ ruined.” _

After they finish cleaning up the failed attempt at baking, Blaine suggests they start a movie.

They end up watching several movies— _ Moulin Rouge, Valentine’s Day _ , that weird conman one Blaine mentioned—as well as ordering in from some local Chinese place, to “give the poor kitchen a break” as Blaine put it.

It’s already dark out, by the time Blaine’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. He lifts it to read the screen, then rolls his eyes. “My brother’s locked out of our apartment.” He gives Kurt an apologetic glance. “I have to go let him in.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kurt says, already getting up to walk Blaine to the door. “Thank you, Blaine.”

“For what?”

“I’ve… been feeling pretty lonely lately, especially at school.” The corners of Kurt’s mouth curve into a supple smile. “I have a feeling it won’t be that bad tomorrow.”

Blaine lights up from inside out. 

“See you tomorrow, Blaine.”

“Tomorrow,” Blaine agrees, then smiles all the way to his car.

* * *

The first thing Kurt hears when students start coming through the door to third period is a series of delightfully surprised gasps and an abundance of students declaring their happiness at his return. 

“You’re back!”

“Oh, my god! Everyone, Mr. Hummel is back!”

“Where have you been, we thought we’d never see you again!

One girl—Izzy—even prances up to him and holds out a handmade card, all smiles. “I made this for you,” she says, blushing a little. She’s always been a little shy with Kurt, he’s noticed, but she always makes an effort in class, and he appreciates that.

He looks at the card. It says  _ Welcome Back, Mr. H!  _ in big glittery stickers. 

“Thank you, Izzy,” he chuckles.

She breaks out into a giddy smile. “You’re welcome.”

The door opens and Blaine walks in the room, lighting up when he sees Kurt. “Good to see you back, Mr. Hummel.”

“Good to be back.”

“Uh, Hummel,” Mr. Davidson calls from his desk. “I’m kind of tied up here, might be a while. Why don’t you take over today? I’ll be in my office.”

Kurt smiles. He does not have to be told twice.

The bell rings and he urges the students onto the risers. After warming up, Kurt addresses the choir. “As you know, I'll be out next week for the TMEA conference, so I'll be on the lookout for songs for you guys. For now, let's finish polishing what we have so far.” He moves to grab his binder and place it on the piano.

Blaine follows suit.

“I was… out sick these past few days, but I missed you guys,” Kurt adds.

They return the sentiment to him in scattered voices.

He smiles at the crowd of kids beaming back at him on the risers. “Alright, let’s start at measure 52.” He looks at Blaine for support, knowing he’ll get it. “I can play the upper voices, do you mind playing the lower ones?”

Blaine nods confidently. “I got you.”


	7. TMEA - Convention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay so these next two chapters are focused on one of my faaaaaaavorite parts about being a music teacher: the Texas Music Educators Association conference. 
> 
> The composer's note for the SECOND song mentioned/linked (the first one is in there just for fun, but if you want chills, i still suggest you watch it;) is the real composers note, and I was actually there back in 2017 when it debuted at the national ACDA conference. It's a really beautiful piece and I linked a performance that I hiiiiiiighly recommend you take a listen to!!! It's seriously SO heartbreakingly beautiful.
> 
> As usual, thanks to Adri, who helped clear a bunch of things up in these next two chapters especially!

Through the hustle and bustle of hundreds of music educators roaming the exhibition hall, Kurt finds it a goddamn miracle that he can even hear Rachel on the other end of the phone he currently has pinned between his ear and shoulder. 

_ “Our flight gets in at eight in the morning tomorrow, and then of course we’ll have to check into the hotel, but we are definitely going to be there for the Women’s All-State Choir Concert. You said you had a student, right? That’s exciting!” _

Kurt fans through a few reading packets of songs written for high school mixed chorus. Mr. Davidson had told him he could pick a piece for the Varsity choir to sing at contest (which was in April—only two short months away), and Kurt thought it best to peruse the vendors, see what they had to offer.

The mutli-day conference as a whole is set up by the Texas Music Educators Association to offer a week of seminars on new teaching methods, concert sessions to showcase new music, and of course, celebrate those students who made the all state Choirs, Bands, and Orchestra with concerts of their own.

“It is. She’s never going to forget this concert. Aw, do you remember the first time we made all state?”

_ “Of course! How could I forget  _ [ _ Great God Almighty? _ ](https://youtu.be/xJNN5bc66Gc) _ Ugh, I still get chills just thinking about it. Chills, Kurt!” _

Kurt thinks back to standing on the impossibly vast stage when he was only a freshman, eons before he’d even considered pursuing music as a career. Most of his high school career was spent either in the choir room or colliding into lockers, but on that stage, he’d been untouchable—a part of this great wall of sound that nobody, not even Karofsky or Azimio, would get past.

“Oh, god, me too. Look at us, twenty two and already looking back on the good times. Aren’t we too young for this sort of nostalgia?”

_ “Probably, but that’s why we’re going to Pat O’s! Stop getting lost in memories, start making them instead!” _ She squeals and Kurt has to pull his ear away from the receiver.  _ “Alright, I have to finish packing, but I love you and I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye!” _

“Bye, Rachel.”

He hits the end button on his screen and turns around to go towards a different vendor, not looking up from his phone yet. Before he’s even taken one step, he bumps forehead-first into a torso. “Oh, crap, I’m so—Blaine?”

He can’t hold back a grin at bumping into each other. A hundred thousand attendees and he keeps running into Blaine.

Kurt knows that he made a fool out of himself a few weeks ago, but after how nice Blaine had been last week, Kurt’s managed to get over some of his chagrin on the whole situation. 

Blaine looks up at him with shocked eyes. “I-Kurt!” he exclaims, mouth curling up. “What are you doing here?”

Kurt glances back at him quizzically, eyebrows raised. In college, music majors all over the state are given this entire week off to attend the convention. Why is Blaine so surprised?

“Well it  _ is _ Texas Music Educators Association, and I  _ am _ a Texas Music Educator.”

“Oh, yes of course—of course! That makes sense… Oh, hey! You’ll never guess what I found.” He digs through the tote bag hanging off his arm and pulls out a thick book entitled  _ 51 Schubert Lieder, _ showcasing it to Kurt.

He lets out a chuckle as he takes it in his hands.

“I saw it and it um,” Blaine rubs the back of his neck and shrugs a little sheepishly. “It reminded me of you.”

The fluttering in Kurt’s stomach reminds him that,  _ crap, _ he still has some weird crush feelings left for Blaine. He supposes that TMEA is a good enough place to find someone to get over that.

Kurt fans through the pages, landing on  _ Rastlose Liebe; _ Restless Love. Yeah, his heart is pretty restless when he’s around Blaine.

He finally lifts his head to meet Blaine’s (surprisingly bashful) gaze. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so flattered to be lumped in with someone who was nearly exiled from Vienna.”

“Honestly, your best friend gets kicked out of the Austrian Empire  _ once,  _ and all of a sudden everyone forgets what an amazing composer you are.”

“Oh, trust me, I could never forget,” Kurt says, shutting the anthology and running his eyes over the beautifully ornate cover. “All jokes aside, he really is one of my favorite composers, if not my favorite.”

“I think he’s definitely growing on me,” Blaine admits. Kurt moves to hand back the booklet, but Blaine shows him his palm in a stop motion. “Keep it,” he says, eyes gleaming with a fondness he thinks wasn’t there a few weeks ago.

“Really?”

“Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Before Kurt can respond, he’s distracted by a familiar head of dark brown hair bunched up into a bun, just behind Blaine’s shoulder.

His entire face lights up and he practically bounces over to the woman searching through the pedagogy books, completely forgetting about his conversation with Blaine. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have been so rude, but he hasn’t seen her in years and he’s too swept up in his excitement to pay too much attention to such formalities. He taps her shoulder.

The woman turns around, confused for only a second before a smile spreads across her face. “Kurt!” She throws her arms around him. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Mrs. Velez!” He squeezes her back before letting go. “And yeah, I know. New York kept me pretty busy. But I’m student teaching now, here in the district.”

“Ah, so you’ll be graduating soon, right?”

“In May,” he confirms.

“Where are you teaching?”

Kurt tries not to let his smile crack. “Over at East. With Mr. Davidson.”

She gives him a tight lipped smile and pats his shoulder. “Well, if anyone can make the best of a bad situation, it’s you. One of my old student teachers actually works there now. I think you two might get along. He’s a smart one, like you.” She looks past Kurt’s shoulder, finally catching Blaine’s eye. “Oh, speak of the devil and he shall come!” she exclaims, releasing Kurt and moving to hug Blaine.

Blaine’s smile crinkles his eyes. “It’s good to see you, Norma.”

_ Norma? _

Kurt looks back and forth between them for a moment.  _ “You _ student taught at McKinley?” he asks, bewildered. It was the only explanation Kurt could think of, since it was pretty common practice for student teachers to call their mentor teachers by their first name when they weren’t in front of the students. Though, he doesn’t quite think he’ll ever get used to hearing his own teacher’s first name.

“You  _ went _ to McKinley?” Blaine asks. “Wow… another strange coincidence,” he turns to Mrs. Velez. “Did he tell you we’re both from Ohio, too?”

She raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders suggestively. “Wow, seems like something might be written in the stars for y’all.”

Kurt doesn’t know what reaction he’s expecting, but he’s so not expecting Blaine to blush. “Oh, I-we-um, no,” he sputters out. “We’re just—we’re not—”

Kurt rolls his eyes and comes to Blaine’s rescue. “What he means is we’re just friends. Venting about Mr. Davidson is how we stay sane because… well, you know how he is.”

She shares a sympathetic look with Blaine. “I promise you, Blaine, we’ll get you in front of a choir again.” She turns to Kurt. “As for you, I’ll keep an ear out for any openings next semester. If I hear anything, can I drop your name?”

“Oh my, of course, yes!” he happily agrees. “Thank you!”

“Well, good luck to you both. I have an all-stater this year—Marley Rose, a complete sweetheart. Sings like a dream—I have to go pick her up from her sectionals and make sure she gets fed lunch. I’ll see you two around.”

She smiles warmly at them before walking away with a wave.

Blaine sighs. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

“She’s fantastic! And so funny! When we went to Austin for my first year at state Solo and Ensemble, we were grabbing lunch as a group and she asked us:  _ why was the soprano standing out in the rain—” _

_ “Because she couldn’t find her key and didn’t know when to come in!” _ Blaine elatedly finishes with him, throwing his head back and cackling. They laugh together for a moment, broken when Blaine checks his watch. “I would love to stay and chat, but there’s a concert session in a few minutes over in Ballroom B. A professional Chamber group is debuting a Jake Runestad song.”

“I love Jake Runestad!” Kurt says, instinctively reaching out to grab Blaine’s shoulder. He quickly clears his throat and retracts his hand, hoping his excitement over the performance won’t be misconstrued as eagerness to spend time with Blaine… even if it kind of is.

Blaine simply gives Kurt one of his earnest and disarmingly charming smiles. “Well, if you’re going anyway, we might as well sit together.”

* * *

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

They’ve sat through the first five pieces of the concert session, and on the sixth, Blaine turns his head to see Kurt poring over the program, hand to his heart and eyes watery.

Blaine instinctively places a hand on Kurt’s thigh. Kurt jolts a bit in his chair at the gesture. “Are you okay?” Blaine asks him.

Kurt sniffs and nods, then adds as quietly as he can to not disturb the performance. “I was just reading the composer’s notes for the Jake Runestad piece coming up and—” Kurt’s face crumples, and he just shoves the open program into Blaine’s lap.

Blaine feels his own eyes start to water as he reads on. 

_ When Germán Aguilar passed away unexpectedly in the summer of 2014, it was a huge loss to our world. Germán had a warm, kind personality and a love for life, teaching, and the people around him – especially his fiancé Jon Talberg. After Germán’s death, Jon was cleaning out Germán’s wallet and found the only card inside was mine. I had given it to Germán when we met in January of 2014. Jon soon contacted me and asked if I would write a piece of music in memory of Germán – I was honored to do so. _

_ I hope this music captures an element of Germán’s life as an amazing man and lover of music.  _

_ Also, I hope the music will serve as a form of healing to those who experience it and who continue to suffer from this immense loss. Todd Boss, the amazing poet who wrote an original text for this work, beautifully captured the message we want to leave with you: “And so I go on, always, wherever you are, my lovely one.” _

Blaine blinks back tears while the crowd applauds. The program indicates that the following and final piece is the Jake Runestad composition he was just reading about.

He hands the program back to Kurt, feeling the other man’s fingers lightly brush over his and trying to ignore the electricity that passes between them.

The director of the choir raises her arms, and the choir breathes in as a unit before letting out the hauntingly beautiful and simple opening of the  [ piece. ](https://youtu.be/exv4TuOUG9Y)

_ My lovely one _ _   
_ _ My lovely one _

_ Though you are gone _

_ Though I am gone _

_ Taken from me _

_ Taken from you _

Blaine’s throat tightens in on itself when half the choir comes in, and the other half responds, as if they are the lost loved one.

_ I cannot leave you _

_ Mine in your suffering _

_ I am not free _

_ Mine in your joy _

_ I burn in snow _

_ My snow will kiss you _

_ And thirst in rain _

_ Pouring down my love _

Blaine feels Kurt reach out and grab his hand. After he has a second to think, he almost yanks it right back, not wanting to encourage a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago, before remembering why Kurt moved to San Antonio in the first place.

His mom, Blaine realizes. The composer’s note, the words… this song must hit home pretty hard for Kurt. He can’t imagine what his life would have been like if he’d lost either of his parents. He shudders at the thought.

So Blaine ever so gently squeezes Kurt’s hand back, trying not to make the breath he sucks in so audible when Kurt looks back at him with those same blue-green-gray eyes that caught his attention that first day of school.

_ There is no sea that can drown my pain _

_ There is no sea that can drown your pain _

_ But you would want me to live _

_ But I want you to live _

_ And love again _

_ And love _

_ My lovely one _

_ My lovely one _

He feels a strange, unfamiliar tugging sensation in his chest, like his own heart is aware it’s beating for the first time in his life. Blaine’s been moved by music before—he was driven to tears by the trombones in  _ Frozen Cathedral, _ had chills the entire time he first heard Andrea Ramsey’s  _ Mueveme _ —but nothing like this. 

Kurt momentarily releases his grip to wipe at his eyes, and the tugging stops. It starts up again when the younger man reaches down and grabs Blaine again.

He glances down at his and Kurt’s intertwined hands and briefly wonders if it’s not the music making him feel this way at all.

Blaine shakes the thought from his head. He doesn’t like Kurt. If he did, it would be… weird. And wrong. And there are  _ so _ many ways he could absolutely screw it up.

_ And so I go on _

_ And so I go on _

_ Always, wherever you are  _

_ Always, wherever you are _

_ My lovely one  _

_ My lovely one _

Still, he doesn’t take his hand away from Kurt’s. They sit there, hands enveloped in each other’s, with Blaine gently stroking his thumb over Kurt’s hand until the song comes to a close.

_ My lovely one _

* * *

“Only one word comes to mind when I think of that experience: powerful.”

They’re leaving the concert session now, and Kurt notes that they’re not the only ones drying their eyes. 

Blaine has been staring at his shoes contemplatively until he hears Kurt’s comment, then his head snaps up. He looks at Kurt with a mildly panicked expression. “Experience?” he questions.

Kurt furrows his eyebrows. “The commissioned piece? I know you felt something, too, you’d have to be a zombie not to.”

Blaine breaks his gaze and nods. “Yeah, of course, the song…”

Kurt cocks his head to the side. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I just, gotta go,” he says, still not quite meeting Kurt’s gaze. 

“But I’ll see you tomorrow, at Melodie’s concert, right?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll see you then,” is all Blaine says before hurrying off into the crowd.

* * *

Rachel spends the entire ride from the airport chatting Kurt’s ear off about anything and everything. Well, anything and everything pertaining to her.

“...and then she told me that I was pitchy! Can you believe that, Kurt? If I’m so  _ pitchy _ , then why was  _ I _ cast as the lead and  _ she _ as the understudy?”

“Mmmhmm,” Kurt mindlessly agrees, flipping through his phone and knowing she’ll run out of steam eventually. 

“Anyways,” she sighs. “How are things here? How’s your love life, anybody special?”

“Yes, because spending eight hours a day surrounded by children just really opened up a lot of doors for me.”

“Well, there are single dads, right?” Finn asks, checking his blind spot. Of all the things his brother could miss about Texas, Kurt didn’t think it would be driving. But he doesn’t have to deal with the traffic since Finn practically begged to drive, so he’s not complaining.

Kurt scoffs. “Finn, I’m teaching High School. Any parents I might meet are probably our parents' age. Maybe even older, considering your mom and my dad had us pretty young.”

He shrugs. “Puck used to date all those cougars. What would be the gay version of that, like a panther? Ocelot?”

“I hate you both,” Kurt mutters.

It takes nearly an hour, but they make it to the hotel where Finn and Rachel check in, then head back to the convention center to see Melodie’s concert.

Kurt’s sliding into a row of seats when he hears, “Wow, we have got to stop meeting like this.”

He narrows his eyes playfully at Blaine. “Again. TMEA,” he gestures to himself. “Music Educator.” Kurt takes a look around at the quickly filling room. “You can sit with us, if you’d like.”

“Sure,” Blaine says and slides in next to Kurt, body pressing closer than he thinks is necessary— _ no.  _ He’s gone down this road before and Blaine has made it clear that he doesn’t like Kurt in that way. How is he  _ still _ making things up in his head?

The concert is spectacular, as it is every year, and as soon as it’s over, Kurt starts searching the crowd for Melodie. After a few moments, he hears her voice calling out to him and turns around to face her.

“Mr. Hummel!” she exclaims, right before bounding into his torso for a hug. Kurt hovers his arms up at first, giving a very amused Blaine a panicked look. Blaine shrugs, and Kurt glares at him as if to say,  _ You’re no help. _ He eventually lowers his hands and pats the girl on the shoulder. “You came!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says as she peels herself away from him. And he means it. Singing with a choir like this is an astounding achievement, and it should be celebrated and acknowledged.

“Mr. A!” She beams up at Blaine. “You made it, too!” She scans the crowd behind him. “Did Mr. Davidson come?”

Kurt exchanges a concerned glance with Blaine. He hadn’t seen Mr. Davidson since the convention started, but he truly and honestly doubts that he would have made the time to come see Melodie. Does he really have to tell that to the glowing kid smiling up at him?

As it turns out, he doesn’t, and from the way Melodie’s smile loses some of the light behind it, Kurt gathers she’s figured it out herself. “Oh,” she mumbles, desperately trying to keep her face on. “I’m sure he’s probably busy or something. It must’ve been  _ really _ important for him to miss this.”

Kurt churns out his best supportive smile and they stand in silence for a moment before Rachel decides to try and help.

“It was a beautiful performance. I loved the Spiritual.”

Melodie turns her head, and based on the way her brown eyes double in size and her mouth falls open, it’s obvious Rachel Berry has a fan.

He takes a step back as Melodie approaches Rachel and leans in to whisper to Blaine, “This should be interesting.”

“Oh… my…  _ god!”  _ Melodie squeals so high that even Rachel looks taken aback. “You’re Rachel Berry!”

She blinks at the tiny soprano. “Why, yes, I am,” she says, her inflection saying  _ Why does this child know my name? _

Melodie doesn’t need any prompting to explain her excitement. “When I was in sixth grade my choir teacher took a few of us on a field trip to see the All-State choir and you were the soloist for Debussy’s  _ Salut Printemps. _ Your vocal dexterity was phenomenal. Tears were shed, ovations of the standing variety were given, and lives were changed—namely, mine. I looked you up. You took first chair in the All-State mixed choir soprano section all four years of your high school career. I wanted to be _just_ like you.”

“Oh, you can do much better than that,” Kurt says teasingly with a dismissive wave of his hand. Rachel shoots him an icy glare.

“So, tell me everything,” Melodie says. “What’s it like singing with the New York Met?”

“Well, actually,” Rachel begins, stepping in next to Melodie and looking dramatically out to the stage. “Even though I could have very easily had a career as an opera singer, I found my calling in musical theater.”

“Really?”

Rachel nods and starts off on a tangent about “the duality of woman” and Kurt decides it’s best to let these two intense personalities tucker each other out.

“Wow… that kid is… a lot,” Finn says.

“Have you  _ met _ your girlfriend?”

Finn just rolls his eyes and turns to Blaine. “Hey dude, I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Finn, Kurt’s brother.” He extends a hand out to the shorter man.

“Blaine. I work with Kurt over at EHS. He’s told me a  _ lot _ about you.”

“If it was about that weird crush thing, don’t even worry about it. We’re totally past that.” 

Kurt’s stomach turns and he brings his hands up to his now red face, thinking  _ Oh my god oh my god oh my god shut up shut up shut  _ **_up_ ** _ , Finn! _ but is far too paralyzed by his own mortification to actually vocalize it.

Finn narrows his eyes at Blaine. “And if you have a problem with the fact that my brother used to have a crush on me—because we’re both dudes, I mean, not because of the brother thing—then you and I are going to have a serious problem, pal.”

Blaine tosses his head back with an uproarious laugh and Kurt has never so badly wanted to scoop his own eyeballs out. “We’re–it’s not–he’s my stepbrother,” Kurt explains, because  _ that _ will definitely make it less embarrassing.

“Believe me, Finn, it’s not a problem. I’m gay.”

“Oh, cool.” Finn instantly rolls back his weight on his heels, relaxing, and returns to his normal, goofy grin. “Weird, Kurt said he wasn’t interested in anyone right now, but you’d be totally his type.”

“Really? I would have never guessed.” Blaine sends Kurt a shit-eating grin, but something in his eyes is… different. Something Kurt can’t put his finger on and would probably spend more time worrying about if he wasn’t so busy trying to shut his brother up.

“Alright, enough of that!” Kurt claps his hands together once. He turns to Finn and mutters, “Don’t we have plans to make for later tonight?” through clenched teeth.

Kurt can practically see the lightbulb turn on above Finn’s head. “Oh yeah!” He exclaims. “A group of us are going to Pat O’s tonight—that dueling piano bar downtown—you should totally come!”

Kurt sends him a panicked glare. “I’m sure Blaine is busy.” He just wants to get shitfaced with his friends tonight, and he can’t do that if he’s worried about impressing Blaine.

“I appreciate the invite, but I’m supposed to meet up with a friend from college.”

Kurt lets out a relieved sigh before Finn shrugs. “Bring ‘em along! The more the merrier!”

If Blaine’s beaming grin wasn’t so damn infectious, Kurt is certain he’d be scowling so intensely that Finn would blackout from sheer fear.

“Okay, yeah. Sounds like fun.”

* * *

Contrastly, the ride back to the hotel is dead silent. Rachel is in the backseat, holding her fit of laughter inside for fear of her life. Kurt is glaring out the front windshield, silently seething while a terrified Finn keeps his eyes fixed on the road.

The tallest of the three inhales before breaking the delicate silence. “I didn’t know he had already rejec—”

Kurt holds a hand up to him, not moving his gaze. “Not a _word,_ Finn.”

“Yeah, okay.” 


	8. TMEA - Downtown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am once again asking you to [click on the links so you can listen to some bomb ass music] lol jk but rly theres a link if anyones interested!
> 
> Again, huuuuge thanks to my beta, Adri! :)

**_A Chapter of Blaine_ **

The best thing about the TMEA conference is that it’s just as much play as it is work. Yes, it’s the convention where every music teacher in the state (and then some) come to see awe-inspiring performances by some of the best selected highlight groups and the state choirs, but it’s also where said teachers come to get plastered with friends they usually only get to see about once a year.

Blaine knows this is the only reason Quinn—despite the fact that she is not a teacher—saved up her vacation days and came down for half the week, but he’s happy to see her nonetheless.

After picking her up from the airport, they come to their usual hangout spot—the Alamo Plaza. They sit in the cool evening air, taking turns trying to toss honey roasted peanuts into the other’s mouth. 

“Why do you like to sit here at night?” she complains, shooting and missing Blaine’s mouth.. “Between Ripley’s Haunted Adventure, the notoriously haunted Menger Hotel and the literal historical battle site, it’s like, Friday the 13th level creepy around here. Do you know how many people died on these grounds?” She shudders.

“182,” he answers very matter-of-factly, missing her mouth as well. “Well, 182 Texans and roughly 600 Mexicans.”

“Wow. Why the hell do you know that?” She throws an almond at him and misses again. “It’s the wind, I should get a re-do.”

“The tour’s free,” he replies. “And you have just as much wind as I do, so no.”

“What time are Sam and Tina driving in?” She suddenly asks. 

“I think they’re already here, but they’re gonna save us some seats at Pat O’s.”

She gives Blaine a sideways glance and hums thoughtfully. “Pat O’s where the infamous Kurt Hummel is apparently going to be making an appearance? I saw his Facebook page. Tell me again why you aren’t shooting your shot with him?”

Blaine… likes Kurt, he’ll admit that much. Of course, not romantically, that’d be weird. He was student teaching at McKinley a mere year after Kurt graduated from there. A year off, and he could’ve been one of his students. 

Sure. He’s aware of how admittedly attractive Kurt is, but Sam is attractive, too. That doesn’t mean he wants to  _ date _ him. And no, he doesn’t feel this strange but welcomed pull when he’s around Sam, or have the desire to listen to every detail about Sam’s day just to hear his cute voice and see his iridescent eyes shine the way they do when he laughs and—

Blaine shakes his head. “Sorry, um, what were you saying?”

“Well,  _ you _ were busy staring off into space thinking about Kurt instead of replying to me.” 

“I was not thinking about—”

Blaine stops himself when he hears a familiar flutey voice screech, “Rachel Berry, if you do not get your drunk ass in this carriage, I swear to god!”

He whips around, letting the almond Quinn was tossing hit him in the back of his head, to see Kurt standing on the curb, trying his damndest to coax Rachel into one of those tacky light up horse drawn carriages.

Blaine automatically gets up and heads towards them, a confused Quinn following his wake. “Where are you going?” She asks, but receives no response from Blaine.

“I don’t wanna go!” Rachel whines. “Bonham was so much fun and I just love the energy in there! Did you taste their Mexican lollipop shots? It tasted like pink! Like  _ pink!” _

“I know, but we said we’d meet Finn at the bar thirty minutes ago,” he replies sternly, more than a little annoyed. A couple walking by gives them concerned glances while Kurt’s trying to push Rachel in. He scrunches his nose at them. “I’m not—she’s my friend!” He reassures them. “I’m not, like, trying to kidnap her or… Jesus, Rachel I’m pretty sure you’re making such a big scene that those people are about to call the cops on me.”

Blaine stifles a laugh at the scene. “Need a hand, Kurt?”

Kurt spins around at the sound of Blaine’s voice. “Blaine,” he says, startled. “I um, think I’ve got it,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “But I definitely appreciate the offer.”

Quinn raises her eyebrows at Blaine. “Ah, so  _ this _ is the Kurt I’ve heard so much about.” Blaine shoots her a glare, but she extends her hand out anyway. “Quinn Fabray, nice to finally meet you.”

“Kurt Hummel,” he says with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, too. How do you two know each other?”

“Oh,” Blaine starts. “We met at UT-Austin in a philosophy class. Been best friends ever since. She lives in Dallas now, so we don’t see each other often, but she comes down every TMEA.”

“Is that dreamy Blaine!?” Kurt’s inebriated friend calls out from the carriage.

Blaine and Quinn watch in amusement as Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s—those are her words, not mine,” he promises.

“Tell dreamy Blaine to get his perky little butt in here! We’re going to Pat O’s already anyways,” she pokes her head back out the door, clinging onto the edge of the door for some much needed stability. 

_ “Rachel!” _

“I mean, we definitely wouldn’t mind a ride. We’ll obviously help with the fare,” Blaine says, telling himself that it’s because the soles of his feet are tired from walking the convention center all day and not because he just wants to cozy up next to Kurt. He even almost believes himself.

Quinn eyes him knowingly and Kurt just smiles a bit shyly.

“Um, yeah, sure. That’d be fine.”

* * *

The three of them walk through the doors to the piano bar (Rachel stumbles). At the very front of the room is a stage with two pianos facing each other, each with a ridiculously talented pianist who can play from a wide selection of tunes at the drop of a hat. Blaine recognizes the song they’re playing as ABBA’s  _ Does Your Mother Know _ .

Some people are standing and dancing, others are drinking contently in their chairs, but everyone is singing along and having a good time.

Blaine suddenly stops.

At the front of the bar, Finn, Tina, Sam, and Santana are seated at the table closest to the stage… along with Sebastian Smythe.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Quinn snarls. “Did Tina and Sam invite him?”

“Down girl,” Blaine placates her, even though his stomach is churning with dread as well. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but if Tina or Sam did invite him, we can’t be mad at them… they don’t know what happened. Besides, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“He was kind of a  _ huge _ asshole, actually,” Quinn contests.

“You just have to say that because you’re my best friend. I just want to have a good time tonight, there’s no need to bring the past up. We’re friendly enough, now.”

She rolls her eyes as the four of them walk up to the table. Sebastian grins up at Blaine. “Hey there, killer. Haven’t seen you in a while.” He stands up and ropes Blaine into an overly friendly hug. 

“Hm, maybe that’s by design,” Quinn retorts. 

Sebastian pulls back and digs his hands into his pocket. “Always a pleasure to see you, Fabray.”

“I’d say the same but I gave up being a fake bitch for Lent.”

Sebastian just lets the dig roll right off of him and she goes to the bar to order drinks.

Sebastian is staring at something, and it’s not until Blaine follows his gaze that he realizes he’s actually staring at some _ one _ .

He knows that shit eating smirk on Sebastian’s face all too well. “And who is  _ this _ tall drink of water?” he asks, confidently striding up towards Kurt and taking his hand in greeting.

_ Oh, no you don’t, _ is Blaine’s initial gut reaction to the interaction happening in front of him. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on but he knows he’s sure as hell going to put a stop to it.

“This is Kurt,” Blaine says. “Kurt is uh, a student I work with.” 

Blaine knows it’s kind of a low blow, presenting it as a half truth like that, but he’s hoping it’s enough to make Sebastian back off. It seems though, that all it’s done is piss Kurt off even more, as the countertenor throws Blaine a murderous glare before shaking Sebastian’s hand.

“Student  _ Teacher _ ,” Kurt corrects him. Blaine’s muscles clench when he adds on, “And you’re not so bad yourself,” with a flirtatious wink before sauntering off to Finn, dragging Rachel behind him. 

_ Since when is Kurt so forward? Even with me he wasn’t like that. Well, maybe because I clearly was not as receptive as Sebastian. Though, there’s nothing to be receptive to because I don’t like Kurt… _

_ Right? _

Blaine is not the jealous type. He’s  _ so _ not. That’s not why he’s reacting so strongly to their interaction. It’s just… if he knows the damage that a shipwreck of a person like Sebastian can cause, shouldn’t he do everything in his power to stop Kurt from making that mistake?

Blaine glares as Sebastian follows Kurt with his eyes the entire time. “So what’s his story? He single?”

“Didn’t you hear me? He’s a  _ student _ . You wouldn’t date one of your students, would you? What are you even doing here?”

“It was just a happy accident that we ran into each other. It’s TMEA. Just because you live here doesn’t mean you own San Antonio… Besides, he’s a student teacher, you goodie two-shoes. And no, I wouldn’t date one of my students because in case you forgot, I teach middle school choir, fuckin’ weirdo,” he says nonchalantly. “It’s  _ so _ not the same thing here. My mentor teacher told me that student teachers should be seen as colleagues, and that means they’re fair game. He’s a grown-up, he can make his own decisions.”

“You don’t get it, Seb. He’s not just some love ‘em and leave ‘em guy, he’s…” Blaine racks his brain for the words to even begin to describe Kurt. “He’s special…”

Sebastian has the audacity to laugh. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you want him for yourself.” He leans in towards Blaine and waggles his eyebrows. “Or if I’m lucky, maybe you still want me.” 

“Fuck off,” Blaine scoffs. “And for the love of god, stay away from Kurt.”

“Fine, but if he comes to me, I’m certainly not going to say no.”

Blaine rolls his eyes as Sebastian goes to order his drink. Finn is on one side of Kurt, so Blaine makes his way to the table and strategically places himself on the other side of Kurt and across from Quinn.

She eyes him knowingly and slides one of the famous Pat O’Brien’s hurricanes across the table to him. “Why don’t you sit over next to me?” she teases.

“I uh, have a better view of the performers this way.”

Suddenly two pairs of arms wrap around Blaine’s neck from behind. “Blainey Days!” Tina cries.

He laughs and looks up to see Tina and Sam. “Good to see you guys.” He pats their arms in greeting, a huge smile on his face.

“Okay, we love you and we’ll catch up in a sec,” Tina hiccups. “But I’m drunk and I need Sam to dance with me.”

“Good to see you, man,” Sam laughs as he’s being dragged onto the dancefloor by Tina.

_ “Alright Texas Music Educators, how we doing tonight?” _ the female pianist calls into the microphone. The entire bar roars with cheers and Blaine finishes off his drink, grimacing. He forgot how  _ strong _ these things were. “Let's keep this little ABBA train rolling here,” she says and does a musical flourish on the piano before starting the opening notes to  _ Dancing Queen _ .

“Oh, my god, Kurt!” Rachel squees, reaching across the table to grab his hands. “It’s your song!”

He rubs his palms against his eyes, taking a long sip from his drink. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Blaine chuckles. “Why is this your song?”

Kurt sighs, high and long, almost nonchalantly. “I got voted Prom Queen my junior year of high school as a joke, and I had almost forgotten. What would I do without my beloved best friend to remind me?” He glares at Rachel, who is so drunk by now that she’s having trouble matching pitch to the song, waving her hands up in the air not quite on beat with the music.

“I’m so sorry,” Blaine says.

Kurt shrugs. “No big deal. I just accepted my crown and told Kate Middleton to eat her heart out as my acceptance speech…” he glances over at Tina and Sam on the dancefloor. “This is gonna sound super lame, but I never did get to dance with anyone.”

“Me neither,” Blaine finds himself admitting. “I went to a Sadie Hawkins dance once with a friend—another guy… these guys jumped us before we even got inside. Kinda ruined school dances for me.”

“That’s awful,” Kurt says, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

The song’s closing notes play out and everybody cheers.  _ “Alright, we’re gonna slow things down a little, so if you’ve got yourself a dancing partner, find some space cause this is a  _ [ _ slow dance _ ](https://youtu.be/MidAd1DICEU) _ ,”  _ the male pianist drawls out the last two words.

The piano starts and Kurt’s face immediately goes soft. “My mom used to sing this to me in the car all the time. One of my first memories is her eyes smiling at me through the rear view mirror, singing while this song plays.”

“She sounds incredible,” Blaine says— _ Like you, _ he doesn’t. “The way you talk about her… I wish I could have met her.”

Kurt looks at him and a sad smile feathers itself on his face. “She would have really liked you.”

_ I’ve never felt this strong _ _   
_ _ I’m invincible how could this go wrong _ _   
_ _ No here, here’s where we belong _ _   
_ _ I see a road ahead  _ _   
_ _ I never thought I would dare to tread _

Before he knows the mess he’s getting himself into, Blaine scoots his chair back and stands up, extending his hand out towards Kurt. “I think we both deserve one of those dances, don’t you?”

Kurt narrows his eyes at the hand a little suspiciously, like he’s trying to figure out what the gesture means.  _ If _ it means anything. Blaine honestly doesn’t know.

“Yeah, okay,” he finally agrees. Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and leads them to the dance floor.

_ Like an image passing by _ _   
_ _ My love, my life _ _   
_ _ In the mirror of your eyes _ _   
_ _ My love, my life  _ _   
_ _ I can see it all so clearly _ _   
_ _ All I love so dearly _ _   
_ _ Images passing by _

Blaine notices Kurt’s hesitance and wonders why he’s being so timid now, especially since he was so upfront with Sebastian earlier. 

They’re swaying, dancing a little too far apart from each other. Kurt can reach Blaine just fine with his long arms, but Blaine’s a little uncomfortable and… he wouldn’t mind having the other man a little closer to him. So Blaine tugs and pulls in until they’re almost flush against one another, and moves his hands up behind Kurt’s neck.

_ Like reflections of your mind _ _   
_ _ My love, my life _ _   
_ _ Are the words I try to find _ _   
_ _ My love, my life _ _   
_ _ But I know I don’t possess you _ _   
_ _ With all my heart, God bless you _ _   
_ _ You will be my love and my life _ _   
_ _ You’re my one and only _

Kurt sucks in a breath. “Is this what we missed out on in high school dances?” he asks. “Because it’s nice… like, really nice.”

Blaine can’t hold back a smile. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Really nice.”

_ I held you close to me _ _   
_ _ Felt your heartbeat and thought “I am free” _ _   
_ _ Oh yes, and as one are we _ _   
_ _ In the now and beyond _ _   
_ _ Nothing and no one can break this bond _

Kurt carefully dips his head and leans forward so that his cheek is pressed up against Blaine’s. He can hear Kurt’s voice softly singing along to the words of the song.

Blaine’s heard the ABBA version and seen  _ Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again _ at least six times but… Oh, he definitely prefers this version.

_ Like an image passing by _ _   
_ _ My love, my life _ _   
_ _ In the mirror of your eyes _ _   
_ _ My love, my life  _ _   
_ _ I can see it all so clearly _ _   
_ _ All I love so dearly _ _   
_ _ Images passing by _

The younger man looks down at Blaine, eyes still somehow impossibly blue in the dim lighting of the bar. Blaine swears the music fades out because all he can hear is his heart hammering in his chest. 

He locks gazes with Kurt, watching his expression slowly fall into something more reflective, like he’s having the same kind of moment. Kurt doesn’t make any efforts to close the suddenly small distance between them, though, and after what happened a few weeks ago, Blaine understands why. Kurt put himself out there and Blaine said  _ no thanks _ . If anything is going to happen this time, it’s up to him.

_ Like reflections of your mind _ _   
_ _ My love, my life _ _   
_ _ Are the words I try to find _ _   
_ _ My love, my life _ _   
_ _ But I know I don’t possess you _ _   
_ _ With all my heart, God bless you _ _   
_ _ You are still my love and my life _

And he should just go for it, right? Because this… thing he has with Kurt could be  _ something _ . Not just anything, but something good and real, because this isn’t just anyone, it’s  _ Kurt _ .

Kurt, who is one of the funniest people on the planet, and smart as hell, and cares about his job like he understands what it means to those kids. Kurt, who is sweet and kind and did he mention handsome yet? He doesn’t think he has, but Kurt is by no means unattractive, and that’s not even his best quality.

_ Yes I know I don’t possess you _ _   
_ _ With all my heart, God bless you _ _   
_ _ You are still my love and my life _ _   
_ _ You’re my one and only _

He leans forward. This could be—

The music changes to  _ Mamma Mia, _ and Sebastian’s jarring laugh and voice startles him from his thoughts. “You remember this song, Tina?”

Blaine blinks. What the  _ hell _ is he thinking? Trying to start something with someone he works with—a student, nonetheless. This could be something Kurt will end up regretting for the rest of his life. This could be something that Blaine screws up  _ so _ hard.

This could be a _colossal_ _mistake_.

Blaine jerks his head back, heart still beating too fast for his own comfort. He sees the blatant disappointment on Kurt’s face. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s just… I don’t see you that way.”

Kurt scoffs. “That’s such bullshit and we both know it. I know I build things up in my head, but this isn’t that. I think you’re scared of-of... being in a relationship with me,” he adds, a bit haughtily.

Blaine can’t stand the heat in Kurt’s voice, or the fact that everything he said  _ might _ be true. He tenses. “And I think you’re just a kid who’s had too much to drink,” he retorts back, knowing exactly where to push Kurt’s buttons.

Kurt grinds his teeth.

“Thanks for the dance,” he says, dropping his hands from Blaine’s shoulders. He whirls around just as Sebastian is passing by, a fresh drink in his hand.

“Hey,” Blaine can hear Kurt say. “Wanna dance?”

His stomach drops and his face heats up. This is why he doesn’t date younger people. They’re immature and do things like dance with other guys to get on your nerves and—Blaine groans. He knows he sounds like a petulant child, but he can’t help how he feels. He storms off back to the table and takes a seat, next to Quinn this time.

She’s leaning back in her chair. Legs crossed and sipping a Pat O’ Brien hurricane through her straw. Based on her expression alone, Blaine knows she saw everything.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” he huffs. “Turning him down was just past-me making good decisions for present-me.” 

She continues sipping, staring at him. 

“I mean, what is this, high school? He’s mad that I don’t like him so he’s going to dance with another guy? I mean, fine by me, I’m a grown up, and I handle these things with a little more finesse than that.”

Blaine eyes Quinn. Still no reaction.

“And he thinks I’m scared? Of what, exactly?” Quinn continues with her drink, but makes a face. Blaine rolls his eyes. “Use your words Q, not your face.”

She uncrosses her legs and sits forward, finally setting her drink down. “Okay, you asked for this,” she warns him.

“I’m a big boy.”

“If you wanna know what I think… I think you never shut up about him, so it’s a little confusing when he wants to jump your bones and you reject him. Twice. And yeah,  _ you _ asked  _ him _ to dance, which doesn’t exactly give off strictly friendly vibes. So if he’s mad, I get it. I know you don’t have the malice in you to do this, but in his mind, you just led him on. But I know you, and being scared makes a hell of a lot of sense. So maybe he kinda knows you too.”

He’s quiet. He’s quiet for too long, and he knows then that Quinn and Kurt are right.

“You know what happened with Sebastian…” he says. 

She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’re  _ not _ Sebastian.”

“He’s a really special person. I don’t know how else to put it. I don’t want to screw this up.”

“I say this with all the love in the world, but… what exactly do you think you’re doing now?”

Blaine inhales deeply and bobs his head up and down before reaching for Quinn’s drink and tilting it back into his mouth.

“Hey!” she cries in protest, taking it back before he can finish it.

“Sorry,” he exhales when he’s done. “I’m gonna need some liquid courage for this.”

He turns around, unable to find either Kurt or Sebastian on the dance floor. He scours the bar until he sees them walk out the door, arm in arm.

He looks back at Quinn, who seems just as surprised by the turn of events. She looks up at him sympathetically and slides her drink back towards him.

* * *

Blaine had gotten too drunk to drive the night before, so he spent the night with Quinn in her hotel. He’s grateful that she was so willing to put up with his drunken ramblings and insistence on watching 13 Going On 30 twice in a row because “I didn’t get to sing all the songs the first time!”

Now, though, after taking a couple of aspirin, and sitting in the comfort of the dark hotel room for an hour after waking up, he’s heading down the hall towards the elevator.

He gets in and pushes the button for the first floor. The doors stay open for a few seconds then start to shut before a hand stops them.

“Oh, thank god I made it, if I’m not home before noon my dad will kill—”

Once again, Blaine’s staring into familiar blue-green eyes. His stomach twists. A hundred thousand people attending this conference, and he keeps running into Kurt Hummel.

“Blaine,” he says, a little surprised.

Kurt’s wearing the same outfit from last night, leading Blaine to draw the obvious conclusion. “So when’s the wedding?” Blaine asks bitterly. 

“Really? We’re going to have  _ this _ conversation?” Kurt asks huffily, stepping into the elevator. “If you must know, Sebastian was very upfront and so was I. I’m not necessarily looking for a relationship with someone like him.”

The elevator lurches downward.

“You know,” Blaine starts. “I misjudged you, sleeping with a twenty seven year old definitely proved to me what an  _ adult _ you are.” 

“Look, I know I had a pretty intense crush on you, and I should’ve backed off after that night at the diner. But I’m not going to apologize for sleeping with Sebastian because I  _ am _ an adult—contrary to your belief. And he’s an adult and we did adult things together…” Kurt adds with narrowed eyes at Blaine. “Lots of adult things.”

Blaine knows he has no right whatsoever to be upset over the fact that Kurt slept with Sebastian. He  _ knows _ that. And yet, he can’t stop himself from saying, “Yeah, sleeping with your friend’s ex, congrats on nailing the whole adult thing right on the head.”

Kurt’s mouth falls open, eyes widening just a bit. 

It takes a moment for Kurt’s reaction to make sense. “You didn’t know,” Blaine realizes with a certain amount of guilt. How could he have known? Bringing up exes isn’t exactly the first trick in the book of foreplay. 

“ _ God _ no. If I had, I never would have given him a second glance, I swear,” Kurt says apologetically and a little horrified. “Was it—was it a bad breakup?”

Blaine bitterly laughs and the elevator doors open with a light ding. They walk out together. 

“You could say that... He was a senior TA, and I was just a sophomore in college and we started going out. I had never really been in a relationship before. About a month into what I assumed was dating, he mentioned that one of his roommates was moving out and asked me to pick up the lease. I kind of took that as him asking me to move in—like as a couple, which apparently wasn’t the case because a few weeks later I walked in on him and someone else in his room.

“I didn’t know we weren’t exclusive and it was a really shitty way to find out… but it was a long time ago, and I’ve moved past it but… it’s kind of the only long term thing I’ve ever had and I don’t—I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to screw this up,” he finally admits. “I  _ do _ care about you, Kurt.”

Kurt bites the inside of his cheek.

“But I’m apprehensive about dating someone younger because of all that. I don’t ever want to be somebody’s Sebastian.”

Kurt just pulls him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he says. Blaine’s taken aback, but relaxes a little into the hug. 

“It’s okay,” he pulls back and they head to the exit. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset, but I know how he can be and like I said… I care about you.” 

They walk through the automatic sliding doors of the hotel into the morning sunshine.

“I know,” Kurt says. “And I haven’t said it enough, but you’ve really helped me a lot over at EHS, and I really appreciate it… So we’re good.” He smiles. “That is, if you can look past my poor judgement in companionship.”

Despite himself, Blaine lets out a chuckle. “I think I can do that.”

A black car pulls up to the hotel curb and Kurt waves his phone at Blaine. “I almost forgot about my Lyft. I’ll see you on Monday?”

Blaine nodded. “Monday.”

With a little smile, Kurt climbs into the car and heads off. 


	9. Spring Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for skipping yesterday, yall! It's been a crazy week and by the time i realized i forgot to update it was like ten pm and i will not lie i was abt three white claws in bc im all about unhealthy coping mechanisms.
> 
> Anyways, have fun!

“Alright, so today is going to be a crazy day,” Kurt announces to the choir, with only minutes to spare before the bell dismisses them. 

The days that Mr. Davidson spends locked away in his office are getting more and more frequent, so Kurt’s been handling the classes on his own for the most part. It’s been a learning experience—which, he supposes, is the entire point of student teaching—and he’s made a few mistakes, like trusting the Basses to run a sectional in a practice room. When he came to get them, Kyle was doing his best to get their attention as they all tried to recreate a famous Tik-Tok dance…

But he’s certainly been getting better, and he knows that on days when Blaine is here, he has Kurt’s back. His presence always seems to lift a weight off Kurt’s shoulders, and even if he doesn’t necessarily need him that day, it’s reassuring to have someone willing to help.

He continues with his end-of-class announcements. “But if we stay focused and on-task and put our _phon es away…”_ He gives a firm look to two girls sitting on the risers taking a selfie. They glance up at him sheepishly, embarrassed they’ve been caught, before one of them stashes the phone back in her pocket. “Then I think we can make it through unscathed.”

Kurt takes a deep breath and smiles reassuringly at his students before continuing. “Okay, first things first. By when do you need to bring your dresses and tux pants,  _ hemmed?” _

“By today,” they drone in unison, having heard his mantra several times in the past week, before and after rehearsal.

“Today,” Kurt affirms. “That way, we take inventory and put them away in the uniform room until contest. Nobody leaves their uniform at home, everyone wins. And by when do you need to sign up for a shift at our booth for the Spring Festival?”

“Today!” they answer, with more excitement this time and Kurt can’t help but crack a smile. He himself is kind of giddy about it. He had been really involved in his college organizations, so it’s been kind of exhilarating to dive back into the event planning world. The game idea for the booth (giant tic-tac-toe, that consisted of throwing ping pong balls covered in velcro onto a fabric board) came entirely from the students, but Kurt was more than happy to help with the organization and logistical aspects of turning their vision into a reality.

“And when is the Festival?” he continues.

“Today!”

“Yes! If you signed up to help out, and don’t show up without proper communication to me, that will be reflected in your grade. Again, volunteering at the booth is not mandatory, but it  _ will  _ be a lot of fun.” The bell rings and he smiles fondly at them, wondering when he got so attached. “Alright, get out of here.” He aims his chin at the door.

As they file out, Kurt attempts to organize some forms he needs to submit to the Spring Festival coordinators into a neat pile on top of the piano. They need to be submitted by 3:30 today, so he figures he can probably do that in the passing periods between his conference and sixth period, since during his actual conference he needs to type up the sign up sheet for the festival into a schedule and oh, he can’t forget to turn in those personal growth essays to his University Coordinator before midnight—

“Mr. Hummel?”

A meek-sounding voice interrupts him and he turns around to see Izzy. He gives her a friendly smile. “Hey, Izzy, what’s up?”

Her eyes flicker downwards warily, and he finally notices the black choir dress folded up in her arms. “I um, know we were supposed to have the dresses hemmed by today, but…” Her face crumples and she sniffles. Kurt briefly panics. He  _ so  _ does not know how to handle a crying teenager yet. His mind jumps back to high school, racking his brain for how he felt in his most desperate times. What would have helped him then?

Hoping he’s making the right move, he tenderly places a hand on her shoulder and asks, “Is everything alright?”

She wipes her eyes with her hand. “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbles.

“No, no,” Kurt assured her. “It’s okay.” 

With a final sniff, she swallows and nods her head. “I um… My mom… I don’t know her that well. She doesn’t live with us anymore. And my dad, he uh, works really long hours and even if he didn’t, he has no idea how to sew and I tried looking up some youtube videos to do it myself but we didn’t have the stuff for it and… I’m sorry. I know in years past, Mr. Davidson has kept people from going to contest for this stuff, so… I’m ready to accept my consequences.”

Kurt’s eyes widen in surprise. “Izzy, I—no… Don’t worry about it, alright? Here,” he takes the dress from her. “I appreciate you coming to me and explaining your extenuating circumstances, and the fact that you were so ready to accept consequences shows a lot of maturity, but it’s okay. It’s just a dress. I can easily fix it for you.”

She looks up at him, eyes shining with disbelief and gratefulness. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. I’d do it for anyone in this choir,” he says. 

Before he even knows what’s happening, she all but launches herself forward, tackling him in a hug. “Thank you, Mr. H,” she sobs into his chest. 

After getting over the initial shock, he lowers his hand and pats her back comfortingly. “Anytime, Izzy. I’ll write you a pass for your next class, but I don’t want you to be missing too much of the lesson.”

She eventually pulls away and agrees, her smile still a little watery. 

He writes her a pass and sends her off with a wave she gladly returns. It isn’t until a few minutes after she’s gone that he realizes hemming a dress is a time consuming and tedious task. If he gets started now though, he can get everything done.

Thank god he always keeps a sewing kit in his backpack for emergencies.

* * *

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

When Kurt doesn’t show up at the teacher’s lounge for lunch, Blaine wonders if he’s done something wrong again. He starts going through the past few days in his mind, which have all been relatively uneventful in terms of their friendship. 

Yesterday they watched an episode of  _ Friends _ , and had spent their lunch break imitating the characters. Blaine discovered that Kurt could do a ridiculously good impression of Phoebe’s rendition of  _ Smelly C at _ _,_ one that could even put Sam to shame. The day before that, they had complained about their brothers—Blaine moaned about how it was getting difficult to share an apartment with Cooper, and Kurt sympathized, saying he loved Finn to the ends of the earth, but nothing could get him to share a household with him again.

Blaine pushes down the anxiety pooling in his stomach. Maybe it isn’t even  _ about  _ him. Maybe Kurt just wants to spend some time alone. That could be it.

He can't even pinpoint why he’s so fixated on it, why he can’t stop thinking about it. About Kurt. About how Pentatonix released a new cover today and he instantly thought of Kurt, knew he  _ had _ to show it to him. About how he hoped Kurt would bring up another absurd music history fact (like how Berlioz had dressed up as a woman in order to stalk his ex-lover), or especially that Kurt would share something about how rehearsal went. His face always lights up the brightest when they talk about how the kids locked that one dissonant chord that they were never sure about in to place, or the way the basses finally got that contrapuntal rhythm right on their a capella piece.

Maybe he just needed to stop thinking for a second… and go see for himself.

The first thing he sees is Kurt, sitting on the risers, forehead creased in his concentration, tongue poking out a little at the side of his mouth as he focused on the task at hand. “Is that… a dress?”

Kurt lifts his head, expression a little surprised at first before melting into a fond grin. “Oh, hey, Blaine. Yeah, this is Izzy’s. She couldn’t really get it hemmed because of… family stuff.”

Blaine nods. He handled emergency contact information for the choir one year, and noticed Izzy’s form only had her father’s number on it. “So you offered to do it for her?”

“Of course. Anyone would.”

Blaine feels his heart swell because although it might seem like the obvious thing to Kurt,  _ no _ . Not anyone. But Kurt Hummel definitely would. It isn’t until a few seconds later that Kurt clears his throat and says, “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

“Huh? Oh! No, I um, I was just wondering where you were for lunch.” He motions towards the dress. “But I guess I have my answer.”

“Lunch?” Kurt cocks his head to the side before slipping his phone out from his pocket to check the time. His eyes go wide. “Crap!” he whisper-mutters. “I guess I got caught up with this dress thing. I still have to do all this paperwork for the festival tonight and be out there setting up by five and—”

“I can finish that dress for you,” Blaine offers without a moment’s hesitation. It comes automatically, since he and Kurt are… good friends. Blaine might even go as far as saying that Kurt is one of his closest friends.

Kurt looks up at him, astonished and clearly touched. “Really? You don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered,” Blaine chuckles out. “Go finish up that paperwork, and if you need help with anything else, just let me know.”

And he means it, because for Kurt… Well, Blaine would do just about anything to see that priceless smile on his face.

* * *

Pride is a funny thing.

When Kurt got cast as Rinuccio in Gianni Schicchi, he was absolutely beaming with it (and, he supposes, the year before when he auditioned for the theatre program’s production of Ohio and then turned it down after not getting a speaking role). He felt it again when the university chamber group was invited to perform at the Eastern Division of ACDA conference. And of course, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make an appearance when he was the only freshman in his class to final at NATS.

Watching Kyle, Mariana, Melodie, and Izzy all egg on the people playing their festival game, though, Kurt doesn’t understand how the word “pride” can mean all of those things and still be used to label what he feels right now. There  _ has _ to be a different word, something to describe how he’s feeling because pride just doesn’t do it justice. It’s so different, so much bigger and so fulfilling and  _ bright.  _ He’d say like sunshine, but it feels a little bit more like moonlight. They make their own light; all he does is reflect it.

God, he feels like one of those cheesy inspirational posters that say “Broken Crayons Still Color” (which, he  _ did _ cry at the first time he saw it, but that’s besides the point), but when he looks at his students, he can’t help but feel that the future really  _ is _ bright.

Kurt doesn’t want to be the one to dampen it. 

Mr. Davidson is the worst, but he’s also been teaching for longer than Kurt’s been alive. Sometimes, Kurt wonders… is he really the best person for the students to be spending their time with? Could they be getting so much more out of their time in choir if Mr. Davidson would just get off his ass and start teaching them again?

He’s pulled out of his anxieties when a student he doesn’t recognize comes zooming by their booth, followed by another student in a Junior Law Enforcement shirt. 

“What was  _ that?”  _ he asks, stunned. “Do I—should I go intervene?”

“Nah, it’s this really awesome thing the Law Enforcement club does every festival,” Kyle explains, popping some popcorn in his mouth. “For three tickets, they’ll put anyone you want in ‘jail’—which is usually just an empty horse trailer—for like, fifteen minutes or something. A lot of people try to escape them, but it doesn’t work out.”

The students all suddenly look behind Kurt, and Kurt thinks there’s going to be another low-speed chase until they all break out into smiles and call out, “Mr. A!”

Kurt’s heart skips a beat, and he whips around to see Blaine coming towards them. “Mr. Anderson,” Kurt says, mouth twitching from trying not to smile so much. “To what do we owe the honor?”

He shrugs, smiling back. “Figured Mr. Davidson wouldn’t be here, thought you might need an extra hand.”

“Well, the kids are handling most of it just fine, but we always appreciate your company.”

Neither of them catch Melodie’s “Mmm-hmm,” of agreement, or Mariana lightly thwacking her in the shoulder.

“Mr. H,” Kyle suddenly starts, voice coming out as a whine. “I know I signed up to help right now, but we’re kind of in a lull and I haven’t eaten in  _ forever.  _ Could I go find something from another booth?”

Izzy rolls her eyes. “I watched him eat a hot dog thirty minutes before we got here. He’s being dramatic.”

Kyle drops his jaw. “I have a really high metabolism!” he defends himself. “I get really irritable if my blood sugar drops too low.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mariana agrees. “You don’t wanna be here when  _ that _ happens. He turns into the biggest drama queen I’ve ever met. Could give Melodie a run for her money.”

“Hey!”

“Okay, when did this turn into the Official Roast of Kyle Gomez?” he asks with a pout.

“There it is,” Izzy mutters, earning a snicker from Melodie.

Kurt stifles a laugh and waves him off. “Don’t worry about it, just go, Kyle.”

“Thanks, Mr. H!” he says quickly and  _ sprints _ to a nearby booth selling food.

“Never a dull moment with these four, is there?” Blaine asks Kurt with a chuckle, taking the empty chair next to him.

“Hardly with you, either,” Kurt chimes in.

After a few minutes, Kyle finally returns with an already half eaten frito-pie in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. The sun is almost finished setting when there’s another dip in customers, so the kids start trying to throw flakes of popcorn into each other’s mouth.

“Fun fact: I’m actually really good at catching food in my mouth,” Blaine says after a moment of watching them.

“Bet,” a few kids say jokingly.

“It’s true!” Blaine laughs. “This is how my brother and I would pass the time, back when I was a kid.”

“Like, back in the eighties?” Izzy asks innocently.

Kurt sputters out a laugh, while Blaine holds a hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

“What I’m hearing,” Kurt finally says once he’s regained his composure, “is that Mr. Anderson wants you all to throw popcorn at him.” He shrugs at Blaine's mockingly appalled look. “Of course, as a professional, I could never endorse that.” 

“But if you look away for a second or two then you have plausible deniability!” Melodie points out, receiving sideways glances from her classmates. “My mom’s a lawyer,” she says with a wave of her hand.

“Speaking of lawyers,” a voice says behind them. “You’re going to need one.”

Kurt and Blaine spin around to see a student, probably a senior, with her hair slicked back into a bun and wearing a Law Enforcement shirt. She points to Blaine. “Are you Mr. Anderson?”

“Uh, that would be me.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

The kids  _ explode _ into hyena-like laughter and scandalized  _ oooooh _ s. 

“What!?” Blaine looks absolutely baffled. “Was this you, Ku—Mr. Hummel?” he asks with an expressive eyebrow raised. 

In return, the student teacher shows his palms. “I didn’t even buy any tickets!”

Kyle opens his mouth to speak, but Melodie shoots a hand over his lips. “We all plead the fifth,” she says through a megawatt smile.

“Don’t worry,” the student says cheerily. “It’s for a good cause!” 

As she takes him away, another student from the same club approaches their booth. 

“I’m looking for Kurt Hummel,” he says.

Kurt drops his jaw and narrows his eyes at the students, all of who are barely holding it together by this point. You’d think this was the most absurd thing they’d ever seen. He thinks they should spend a semester at McKinley if it is.

“But the booth!” he cries in protest, but the student is already ushering him out of his chair. 

“The law is blind,” the student says seriously. “You do the crime, you do the time.”

“Don’t worry,” Mariana calls out with a devious smile. “We’ve got it covered.”

When the student finally leads him to the “jail” (which actually  _ is _ an empty horse trailer), Blaine is sitting on a bale of hay in the center of the space. 

He lifts his head, giving Kurt a mischievous smile when he sees him. “I take it they got you, too?” he asks as the student leads him to sit on the same bale of hay. It’s small, and the only way he fits is if he’s back to back with Blaine.

“They got me,” he mutters, though his inflection is telling that he’s not particularly angry.

“Time to atone for your sins, Hummel.”

Kurt can’t see Blaine’s face, but he can feel his shoulders shaking with laughter against his back. “Oh laugh it up. That big velour bow tie you wore for Retro-Day during Red Ribbon week was a sin! You looked like Tony Orlando.”

“Was he a designer?”

Kurt chokes out a laugh. “No, he was not.”

A brief silence befalls them and then Blaine says, “They really love you, you know.”

“I mean, they’re kids,” Kurt shrugs. “They probably love Justin Bieber, too.”

“Nobody’s liked Justin Bieber since 2012.”

“I just… Worry,” Kurt finally admits. 

He feels something graze against his hand and turns to his head to the right, only to find Blaine soothingly running his fingers over the back of Kurt’s hand. “About what?”

Kurt sighs. “So, I know Mr. Davidson isn’t… great. But he has been doing this teaching thing longer than I’ve even been alive. And I’m so,  _ so _ grateful that he’s finally letting me teach, but I’m worried that the kids are not getting the most out of this class if… if it’s just  _ me, _ you know?”

“Kurt, “just” you… that’s… you have no idea the kind of cognitive dissonance I’m experiencing right now.”

“What?” Kurt asks with a chuckle. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… it’s hard to hear you talk about yourself like you don’t see how special you are.”

_ Oh _ . Kurt lets the words settle in for a bit, the unexpectedness of them tightening his throat. He had no idea Blaine saw him that way.

“The way you were with Kyle before Solo and Ensemble, you’d be hard pressed to find an experienced teacher who treated him with the same patience you did. Especially in the fine arts. And what you did for Izzy today? I know you think that’s the norm because you’re the most moral and compassionate person I know, but it’s not. You go above and beyond in the ways that matter to them, and they know it.” He grips Kurt’s hand a little tighter. “I know it.”

Kurt swallows, trying to keep his voice light and steady when he says, “Thanks… you’re not so bad yourself.”

“We’ll see about that. It’s been so long since I’ve actually worked with a choir that sometimes I wonder if I’ll even still be any good at it.”

“You will,” Kurt says assuredly. “I have no doubts about that. Anyone who can sight-read piano the way you can is nothing short of a musical genius. Seriously, sometimes I get mesmerized just watching you tickle the ivories.”

“Please don’t  _ ever _ use that phrase again,” Kurt hears Blaine laugh and feels him lean forward to double over in laughter.

“What?” Kurt asks with a phony innocence. “Tickle the ivories?”

When Blaine’s giggling dies down, he takes a deep breath. “Hey…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re one of my favorite people here.”

Kurt grins. “You’re one of mine too.”

They sit, back to back and hand to hand, in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Eventually, the door to the trailer creaks open.

“Okay, prisoners!” the girl with the bun announces brightly. “Time’s up, you're free to go. Thank your accusers for supporting the future law enforcers of San Antonio!”

As they step out, Kurt squints his eyes at the dying daylight. He shades his eyes with his hands, grateful to see their booth still standing. Not that he expected them to burn it to the ground or anything (well… maybe if Izzy and Kyle were left alone).

He hops off the trailer and starts back towards the kids before Blaine grabs his hand and tugs a little. 

“Wait,” he says, Kurt spins around to look at him curiously. “Why don’t we go explore a bit? Support some other organizations?”

He raises his eyebrows in response. “What about the booth? The kids—”

“Will be just fine,” Blaine assures him, jerking his head towards the cotton candy machine. “Take a break. You’ve earned it.”

Maybe it’s the kind words they’d exchanged earlier, or the way the sunset paints Blaine’s skin golden, lighting up his smile even more than usual, but Kurt grins.

“Why not.”

* * *

**_A Moment of Mariana, Melody, Kyle, and Izzy_ **

“Gasp! They’re out!” Melodie says, pointing to where their teacher and accompanist are now playing a bean bag toss.

“Did you just  _ say _ gasp?” Mariana asks, an eyebrow pointed upwards.

“Yes, I binge watched  _ Crazy Ex-Girlfriend _ over the weekend. It was remarkable in every possible way and delivered a powerhouse series finale but that’s besides the point right now. Look how close they are to each other!”

“If you’re going to ramble on with your conspiracy theory,” Izzy grumbles. “Then I’m going home.”

“Did someone say conspiracy?” Kyle asks, finally popping his head up from his second frito pie.

Melodie tosses a dismissive hand in his direction. “Still talking about Mr. Hummel and Mr. Anderson,” she explains. “Not that Chuck-E Cheese shit you’re so obsessed with.”

“I’m telling you guys, Mr. H and I had a  _ moment _ today. He even suggested that we spend more time together! Once I graduate college and eventually get my masters, we’re going to get married and have vaguely Eurasian looking babies. He’s not gay!”

“Izzy, with all due respect,” Mariana starts.

“Love that phrase,” Kyle mumbles aloofly, shrugging. “Could be none.”

“Even if he wasn’t gay—”

“Friendly reminder that bisexuals exist,” Kyle adds. “Could swing both ways, let’s not make assumptions.”

“Are you going to let me get a complete thought out?”

“Sorry.”

“As I was saying, I think it’s pretty obvious that they like each other.”

Melodie claps her hands together excitedly. “Oh, I love a good workplace romance. I can’t wait to see how this plays out!”

Izzy huffs. “None of you are invited to our wedding.”

“That’s fine,” Kyle says with a smirk. “We’ll probably be at theirs anyways.”


	10. Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yup. I forgot to post again didn't I. Amazing.
> 
> Anyways, thanks again to Adri, a lifesaver, god bless

“I think the kids sound best on  _ How Can I Keep, Muie Rendera _ , and _ Food Of Love _ ,” Mr. Davidson says. 

They’re in the choir room office after school, Kurt perched over his shoulder as his mentor teacher fills in the required forms for UIL.

Kurt nods in agreement. Mr. Davidson can be a huge asshole, but at least he’s an asshole with good taste who’s going to get these kids the rating they deserve. They haven’t really been spending much time together recently (Mr. Davidson is always “busy” in his office), but Kurt’s not complaining.

“And for that solo in the Gwenyth Walker piece, I think Mariana could sing it really well,” he replies. “It’s right in her sweet spot—lower middle register. But obviously we’ll have to wait for auditions to see who does it best.”

His mentor teacher scoffs, not even turning his attention back to Kurt. “There’s not going to be auditions. Melodie’s doing it.”

Kurt snaps his head towards Mr. Davidson. “So you’re not holding open auditions?” he asks in disbelief, feeling that small spark of anger he’s been  _ so good _ about keeping down these past few weeks ignite again.

What kind of teacher doesn’t hold open auditions for something like this? How could anyone feel comfortable denying any single one of their students this opportunity? Kurt doesn’t  _ get _ it.

And maybe that makes him naive, or lofty (he’s sure his mentor teacher sees him that way), but isn’t it better than being bitter and jaded and self serving?

“Of course not,” Mr. Davidson continues. “We need someone special to do it.” 

Kurt clenches his jaw. “Mariana  _ is _ special. They  _ all _ are.”

Mr. Davidson lolls his head over to him with a condescending glare. “Look, Kurt. The one thing you need to learn if you want to be a successful choir director is how to have an eye for talent. Don’t waste your time with other students, invest in your stars.”

“With all due respect, sir, spending time on my students is never wasted.” 

“Come on, you know what I mean.” 

“No, actually, I don’t!” Kurt snaps, feeling his voice start to raise and knowing he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it anymore. Every time Mr. Davidson has belittled Mariana, been impatient with Kyle, or even the way he just uses Melodie to feel good about himself—all of that  _ bullshit _ he’s been so  _ damn  _ good about ignoring these past few weeks because it was easier to just focus on the kids, it all comes rushing back up to the surface, raw as ever.

“Because when  _ you _ say a child is special, you mean they have some sort of talent you can just plaster your name on and call it a day, but when I say a child is special, I mean they don’t have to do or be anything extraordinary to deserve my best as a teacher!”

His words reverberate in the otherwise empty office, bleeding through to the also empty choir room. Dread starts to settle in, deep in the pit of his stomach. 

Oh  _ god,  _ what did he just  _ do?  _

His mentor teacher blinks back at him, eyebrows raised a bit in surprise. “I think you need to take a moment to cool off. Come back when you’re not going to get so emotional, or take everything so personally.”

Kurt scoffs and shakes his head. 

He grabs his backpack and hikes it up his shoulder, turning to leave. 

He doesn’t know if he’s coming back.

* * *

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

Blaine's deeply engrossed in the process of reviewing some student recordings from the Piano Solo and Ensemble contest, so he can give his students critical feedback, when he’s startled by the sound of a rap against his apartment’s front door. With a jolt, he looks up curiously, wondering who the hell it could be. Cooper’s not due to be back from his rehearsal at the Majestic Theatre for another few hours, and even if he were locked out, he should know where the spare is.

He throws the throw blanket off himself and rocks himself up from his comfortable position on the couch. The opened door reveals Kurt, and Blaine's heart expands for a second in delighted surprise. Then he sees Kurt’s red rimmed eyes and crying-flushed face, and his blood runs cold.

“Kurt, oh my god,” he says, heart beating rapidly with worry. “What happened? Are you okay? Come inside.” 

He leads the younger man to the couch he was just sitting on, and takes a seat next to him, grabbing his hands. 

“Can I get you a glass of water or a pillow or something? Just say the word; what do you need?”

_ What can I do to make you stop hurting?  _

The thought comes so suddenly, before he can even stop it. Yet, it doesn’t feel all that out of place, because he  _ does  _ care about Kurt. He cares very,  _ very  _ deeply for Kurt and it hurts his heart, somewhere so deep he doesn't know how long it's been there, to see him upset like this.

Kurt only shakes his head, still staring intently ahead at nothing, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought. 

“Kurt…” Blaine murmurs gently. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

There’s a second of silence before Kurt finally speaks.

“I can’t do this.” He slowly turns his gaze to Blaine. “I can’t be here anymore. Not with him. I can’t take it anymore. He has literally taken every piece of hope and optimism I have and just squandered it. And his negativity is so stinging, I can feel it stifling me and suffocating me and weighing down on me and I just… I can’t. I’m calling my university coordinator and asking if it’s too late for me to be transferred, and if it is, I’m dropping the class. I’ll go back to New York, try again next semester. I came to say goodbye, because you were the only other teacher who made my time there worthwhile.”

It takes a moment for Blaine’s mind to catch up with Kurt’s words, to realize what he’s saying, but once he does, his head goes a little dizzy at the thought of there being an absence of Kurt in his life. Especially now that he knows what it’s like to have him  _ in  _ it.

“No,” is the only thing he can think to say, feeling his grip tighten around Kurt’s hands, as if he just doesn’t let go, Kurt will surely have to stay. “Y-you can’t leave, Kurt, you  _ can’t.” _

“I have to,” he replies, voice thick with tears. “I just yelled at my mentor teacher!” He laughs nervously and a little hysterically. “I burned a vital bridge today. God, I wouldn’t be surprised if he contacted my supervisor and had me removed from the program anyway.” 

“No,” Blaine repeats firmly.

One thing he’s learned about Kurt over these past few weeks is that he does what needs to be done and never gives up on anything or anyone. He hasn’t given up on a single one of his students this semester, and now, Kurt needs someone to return the favor. 

“I’ve seen you with those kids, Kurt. You love them. They love you.” Kurt blows a little air out of his nose in a cute little laugh, and ducks his head. Blaine gently lifts his chin back up with one hand and sweeps a fallen strand of Kurt’s hair from his forehead with the other. Something about the intimacy of the gesture sends his blood rushing, heart pounding even heavier than before. “You have this ability to connect with them that some teachers can only dream of, and you are  _ so  _ close to getting that degree. You’ve been working towards this for nearly four years. Do not let him scare you into throwing it all away. Whatever happens, I promise you, we will deal with the fallout together. You can  _ not  _ give up now. I won’t let you.”

Blaine feels a lump in his throat threatening to dissolve into tears. He just gave everything he had, and the fear that it still might not be enough to keep Kurt is still terrifyingly overwhelming, the pure desperation deep in his gut still turbulent and unsettled, as every moment he and Kurt have spent together over the past few weeks flashes through his mind.

Kurt’s smile, his laugh, the warmth of his body pressed up against Blaine’s own when they danced together, his gentle breath singing sweetly in his ear that sent shivers down Blaine’s back, how their hands had fit so perfectly together during the spring festival, the way he makes Blaine feel like he’s walking on a cloud without having to do anything special, because Kurt  _ is  _ special, all on his own. 

Blaine feels something in him  _ crack _ at the thought of all that gone.

And then it hits him.

All the confusion, the denial, every time he’s felt  _ something _ but wasn’t exactly sure what becomes breathtakingly clear. 

He’s in love with Kurt. What a way to find out, too, just on the verge of losing him.

Kurt finally opens his mouth, but Blaine can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not entirely convinced. “I… I don’t…”

“Stay,” Blaine begs, voice pleading and breathy. “Please.”

Gathering up any courage he has left, and praying to the heavens that he hasn’t screwed this thing between him and Kurt up beyond repair, he moves one hand to the side of Kurt’s face and brings their lips together, slow and tender.

He feels Kurt gasp in surprise against him, but he doesn’t pull away. On the contrary, in fact. Kurt reaches an arm around and sinks his hand into Blaine’s hair, tugging them closer and kissing back even harder. 

Blaine’s chest explodes with a million stars in it, and he wraps his arms around Kurt’s back, grabbing for some sort of purchase. He throws himself back on the cushions, pulling Kurt on top of him and opening his mouth wider to allow Kurt’s almost hesitant tongue better access. Despite his best efforts not to, he lets out a little whine, the pure want underneath his skin making him grow more frantic by the second.

It’s all so desperate and needy and perfect and  _ everything,  _ because  _ Kurt  _ is everything. Everything he’s been searching for for so long, and now that he’s got it, he can’t see himself ever letting go.

* * *

The first thing Kurt notices when his eyes flutter open the next morning is that he is not in his room. 

Memories of the night before come rushing back to him and he simply can’t keep back a giddy grin. That kiss had taken Kurt by surprise, but rest assured it was a very,  _ very _ welcomed one. 

The second thing he notices is the absence of Blaine’s warmth by his side.

He sits up and stretches his arms high above his head in an attempt to wake his body. No sooner than he’s about to stand up and search for Blaine, the piano teacher makes his way through the threshold into the room, breakfast tray in tow.

“Kurt!” If it weren’t for the playful glint in Blaine’s eyes, the tone would be too scolding. “I can’t make you breakfast in bed if you’re not actually  _ in _ the bed.”

“Breakfast in bed?” Kurt repeats, accompanying the inquiry with a raised eyebrow. 

Blaine looks down at his feet, his pinkening cheeks betraying his bashfulness. He sits on the bed and sets the tray on his side table. “Sorry, is that weird? Too much too soon?”

A breathy chuckle escapes Kurt’s lips. “If it were anyone else,” he admits, “it would be kind of a lot. But with you, it’s just plain sweet.”

“I just want you to know,” Blaine begins, placing a gentle hand on Kurt’s thigh. “That last night meant something to me. I need you to know that this—this wasn’t nothing, or a one time thing.” His eyes suddenly go wide with panic. “Unless, I mean, it was for you? Oh, god, I didn’t even think about that! I don’t—I wasn’t assuming, I just really didn’t thi—”

With a quick roll of his eyes, Kurt reaches over and rests a hand behind Blaine’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss, unable to keep his smile back, even with his lips pressed firm and warm against Blaine’s.

“You’re really cute when you’re flustered,” Kurt mumbles as he pulls away, reveling in the way Blaine’s eyes are still glazed over and half lidded

“I—uh, uhm, yeah,” Blaine says, kissed to the point of incoherence. “Thank—Thanks, you. For that.”

Kurt softens his gaze, abandoning his teasing tone for something a little more real, more meant. “Last night meant something to me, too,” he finally says quietly.

He pulls Blaine in for another kiss, slower than before, now that he can take the time to properly focus on how Blaine’s mouth feels over his. Now that he knows Blaine wants this—all of it—just as much as he does.

Last night had been frantic, the tension that had been building up between them for the past agonizing few months finally spilling over until they were just a chaotic bundle of limbs on Blaine’s couch.

“You don’t think this is going to be a distraction at work, do you?” Kurt asks. Blaine moves his mouth off of Kurt’s, opting to have it graze against his jawline instead. It makes getting the thought out  _ much  _ harder than it needs to be.

“Of course not,” Blaine says noncommittally, clearly more preoccupied with the placement of his hands on Kurt’s body as he slides a warm hand behind Kurt’s back. “We won’t let it.”

Blaine’s lips find the perfect spot on Kurt’s neck and he draws in a little gasp before letting Blaine pin him down on the bed.

* * *

Not getting distracted by one another is all easier said than done when Monday rolls around, though. They’re in the Fine Arts lounge, eating lunch like they normally would.

Kurt is  _ trying _ to multitask (So. Many. Personal. Growth. Essays.), but every time he takes a tiny break from clacking away on his keyboard to take a bite of his lunch, Blaine is there on the adjacent corner of the table, hazel gaze fixed on him with the softest, fondest, heart-meltingly  _ dopey _ expression.

“What?” Kurt finally pries, fighting hard to keep his flustered smile under wraps. 

Blaine shakes his head, never looking away. “You’re just really cute when you’re focused.”

It’s getting really,  _ really _ hard to focus on this damn assignment when Blaine is being so goddamned adorable, and all Kurt can think about is leaping across the table and planting his mouth on his.

After remembering to take a breath, Kurt says, “I’m  _ always _ focused.”

“And you’re always cute.” Blaine hums contentedly, lightly knocking his knee against Kurt’s.

Kurt has no idea how he’s supposed to survive the rest of the semester, being so close to Blaine and having to wait until they leave school property to jump his bones like a love struck teenager. He vowed to never be one of those teachers who has tacky hookups in the supply closet, but the electricity in the air from sheer proximity to Blaine, remembering how his lips felt on his a few nights ago and realizing that if he wants to feel them again all he has to do is lean across the table and close the distance between them… all of  _ that _ is really testing Kurt’s patience.

Being a responsible adult sucks.

The clearing of a throat breaks Kurt out of his fantasies, and he and Blaine whip their heads towards the door. 

“Sorry to bother y’all,” Melodie begins. Though, Kurt can’t help but notice she looks timid, more reserved than usual. “But I um… I have something I think you two should know about, and I know Mr. Davidson leaves for lunch.”

Kurt closes his laptop and slides it across the table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Melodie to take a seat with them. “Of course,” he says. “You can tell us anything you feel you need to.”

Her hands are fiddling with something, and Kurt finally notices the thumb drive in them. 

“Can you… keep a secret?” She asks nervously.

“Mel,” Kurt starts cautiously. “If someone is hurting you, then we have to report it. That’s not the type of secret that should be kept.”

She shakes her head. “No, nobody’s hurting me. At least, not physically. Emotionally and egotistically, it’s kind of a hard blow.”

She lets out a long sigh. “It’s Mr. Davidson,” she finally admits. “When we had our lesson on Friday, after you left early, he left his binder in the office and asked me to bring it to the practice room. It was there, on top of his open computer, and as I grabbed it, I saw some audio and video files of me singing. I didn’t know why he would keep those, but uh…” She hesitates. “His email was open, too.”

Kurt thinks he knows now, why she was so hesitant to tell anyone. Melodie is smart. Too smart to not know foul play when she senses it, and Kurt has a feeling that those emails  _ weren’t _ open. But, he supposes, he can’t prove otherwise.

“And uh, there were several emails—already open—that show he’s been selling audio of my voice to students from the states that audition honor choirs through audio submissions.”

Other states across the country have moved on from in-person auditions for honor choirs, to digital auditions. Texas remains on the traditional path, but it becomes clear to Kurt that Mr. Davidson has been taking advantage of Melodie’s naivety, using her talent for his own personal and monetary gain.

Kurt lets it sink in, wishing he was more surprised by his mentor teacher’s actions. The truth is, though, that he’s not.

“Thank you for telling us,” he says. “We’ll report this to the principal first chance we get.”

Melodie nods solemnly and holds up a thumb drive. “I uh, managed to capture some screenshots of those emails. Since, you know, they were just out in the open… and then I was—it’s stupid, but I was so upset I just left. Went home.”

“It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling,” Blaine says. 

“I know,” she responds, voice cracking and lip starting to wobble. “I just thought he was spending all that time with me and giving me all those lessons because he really believed in me. I thought I was...” she trails off, letting a sigh out instead of finishing her thought. 

Kurt’s heart cracks at her expression. Mr. Davidson has made plenty of questionable decisions since Kurt’s been here, but now he understands what’s so awful about it all. He’d done it with Mariana, when he’d called her out in front of the entire choir. With Kyle, when he was struggling with his solo. And now, with Melodie.

The worst thing about Mr. Davidson is the way he walks all over the fact that music is an escape for most of these kids. Aside from the few token students who are in the class for what they assume will be an easy A, this is where students come to get away from all the atrocities of the world. And Mr. Davidson takes it upon himself to become one.

A sniffling sound brings Kurt back to the present. “Thanks for listening, Mr. Hummel,” Melodie says. “I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have you to come to. You, too, Mr. Anderson.”

WIth a wry smile, she turns to leave out the door.


	11. Contest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: okay, so WILD when I was looking for recordings for these songs, I was like okay, I def want to use youth and HS choirs just to showcase what students are capable of.
> 
> The first two recordings are of some sort of honor choirs, but when I searched up the last song, the first recording that popped up was just a regular High School choir singing it for their UIL Contest. So I click on the link and as it turns out, that choir is directed by the man who was once my middle school director!
> 
> Anyways, small world! Enjoy!

Mr. Davidson is fired within the week. 

Under Texas state law, Kurt and Blaine are required to report the incident to the principal. They do so promptly.

Melodie’s parents turn out to be very active in demanding the choir director’s termination. Her mom, as she mentioned before, is a lawyer. Kurt considers himself quite knowledgeable in the realm of education laws, but Melodie’s mom was able to point out many violations of laws Kurt had never even heard of on Mr. Davidson’s behalf.

The timing could not have been worse, either.

Mr. Davidson was fired three days ago, and while Kurt’s been taking over rehearsal just fine, he’d gotten an email from his university coordinator yesterday, informing him that she’d be flying in from New york to discuss his rather… delicate situation. As he sits and waits in the vacated conference room for his university coordinator to arrive to decide his fate, Kurt can’t stop his head from reeling over how all of this has only been over the course of a few days. 

The jittering of his leg makes the entire desk rattle and he’s very, very aware of the clicking noise the slightly uneven leg of the desk makes against the tile, but is unable to keep himself still. And then there’s a solid warmth around his hand as Blaine, sitting next to him, interlocks their fingers together.

“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s gonna be okay,” he reminds Kurt. “I said we’d make it okay, and I meant it. Everything will be just fine.”

Just then, the door clicks open and a redheaded woman wearing a yellow blouse with an almost comically large bow at the front hurries in. She takes a seat and pulls out a bottle of hand sanitizer, pumping it into her hands and rubbing them together until she’s satisfied with their cleanliness. 

Kurt opens his mouth to introduce himself, but it seems she is not quite done, as she pulls out a pack of hand wipes and scrubs her area of the table for a solid minute.

“Hi. You must be Kurt,” she finally exhales, pulling out a stack of folders and settling them down in front of herself, looking up at Kurt and Blaine with her wide bushbaby eyes. “I’m Dr. Pillsbury, your assigned university coordinator. And uh, who might this be?” she asks, gesturing to Blaine.

“This is Mr. Anderson,” Kurt explains. “He’s the piano teacher. He came for um, moral support.”

She accepts this with a quick nod before continuing. “I just first want to start by saying—on behalf of the entire education department—how sorry we are that this happened. I, along with the rest of the administration, am very impressed at how well you’ve been handling yourself since your mentor teacher’s termination. It shows a lot of grit and resourcefulness on your part.”

Kurt knows he should be beaming with pride, but he took classroom management. This is a tactic one of his favorite education class teachers taught him. It’s for handling parent-teacher conferences, but it works well in this case, too; start with something positive to set the meeting up for success before bringing up anything negative. 

“Just tell me,” he pleads. Dr. Pillsbury seems a bit taken aback. “I just… I appreciate your praise, but I just want to know what’s going to happen. Am I still going to be allowed to graduate?”

Her eyes go wider than he originally thought possible. “Of course!” she answers quickly.

He lets out a sigh, relief washing over him from his head to his toes as he mumbles out a rushed, “ohthankgod.”

“I just brought some papers for you to sign before we get you back to New York.”

Kurt goes stiff. “New York?”

“Yes,” she responds, already fishing out papers from her folder. “We can’t allow you to stay here unsupervised, and a fellow NYU Alum—Mr. William Schuester—has graciously offered to take you under his wing.”

“What?” Kurt asks, his stomach going impossibly small. The pressure building up at the bridge of his nose warns him of the tears before they even begin to pool in his eyes. _ Keep it together,  _ he reminds himself. “I-I can’t leave. I’ve been working with these kids all semester. Their contest is a week away and you-you’re telling me now that I can’t be here for it?”

She gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid we don’t have any other openings available, and the other choir directors in this district either already have a student teacher or were not willing to take one so late in the semester.”

Kurt opens his mouth to argue again, because he’ll be damned if he leaves before his time is up, but someone else is already coming to his rescue.

“I can do it.”

He snaps his head over to look at Blaine, who had been respectfully quiet nearly the entire meeting. 

“I can fill in,” he repeats, sure as ever. “I have my EC-12 certification, and I’ve been teaching for three years. Those are pretty standard qualifications for mentor teacher status here in Texas, I don’t know what they are for NYU.”

“We only require two years,” she muses aloud, giving Blaine the once over but still not looking entirely convinced. “Mr. Schue has been teaching for several years, however—”

“Please,” he begs. “Don’t… don’t take him. He’s made tremendous growth here, and it would be a crime to have him start over when the students are so close to what they’ve worked all semester for.” Silence hangs in the air. “Don’t make these kids pay anymore for what Mr. Davidson has done.”

Dr. Pillsbury looks at Kurt and Blaine with something that Kurt dearly hopes is enough pity to grant their request.

The professor finally lets out a long sigh. “I’ll correspond with the education department and see what we can do.” She scoops up her papers in her arm and stands up. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

As he walks out the door, Kurt’s shoulders slump against the chair. 

Now all they do is wait.

* * *

If there’s anything Kurt will take away from this experience, it’s that bureaucracy is a  _ bitch. _

The Education Department granted his request for Change of Mentor Teachers, but he still has to jump through a million and two hoops to make sure contest even happens.

First, he has to apply to the district as a substitute teacher, since UIL rules require a certified teacher or substitute to direct the performing students. 

Blaine now has to be present for all rehearsals leading up to contest, since it is illegal for student teachers to be left with a class unsupervised. Officially, the substitute is in charge of the class, and he and Blaine are unofficially there to run rehearsals. The piano teacher never even bats an eyelash or complains, and Kurt is eternally grateful. 

He’s grateful for the weekends they spend together at one another’s place, the countless hours they spend bouncing ideas off each other and troubleshooting choral issues problems, like how the tenors  _ always  _ flat on that measure fifty two of _Muie,_ or choosing a soloist for _How Can I Keep From Singing_ (both Mariana and Melodie killed their auditions, so in the end, Kurt and Blaine decide to split the solo between them). He’s grateful for the first time Blaine officially meets his dad and Carole, and charms them so thoroughly that Burt can’t even keep up his “Gun-Cleaning Dad” act through the first ten minutes. He’s grateful for the casual intimacy they exchange when they lie on the couch together, knees bumping, hands gently brushing against each other as they recount events from the week.

He’s just grateful for _ Blaine. _

With every other guy Kurt’s dated, there’s always been this weird, awkward transition phase from being friends to something more, but with Blaine, it isn’t like that at all. They sort of just bypass all of it, as if this—being together—is all just an inevitability they should have expected.

There’s hardly even time to put a label on it, but between all the logistics of taking the kids to UIL contest and still having to turn in all his college assignments, Kurt really doesn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it. He does, though, have the privilege of just enjoying Blaine in the present.

Once his substitute application is accepted and processed, he applies for the sub position on the day of contest (which, technically, will count as an absence in his student teaching that he will have to make up at the end of the semester).

It’s painstakingly tedious, but Kurt knows it’s all more than worth it when he hears those kids singing and Blaine playing.

* * *

Finally, the day comes.

The forty kids Kurt’s gotten to know so well over these past few months stand in front of him on the risers. Some of them are beaming down at him, some look nervous, but they all look like they know that this is where they’re supposed to be.

He takes a moment to breathe and silently mime some reminders to the kids: breathe early, tall vowels, sound forward. After swallowing around his dry throat, he looks over at Blaine sitting at the piano. Blaine nods and smiles back at him reassuringly.

Kurt nods back, this time a cue for the piano to come in, and lifts his arms in preparation to conduct.

In that moment, all he can think is,  _ Please, god. Don’t let me screw this up for them. _

* * *

[ **A Moment of Melodie** ](https://youtu.be/5c51xYEAAg0)

_ Some people think choir is stupid. _

_ They’re idiots. All of them. They’re going to live unhappy and unfulfilling lives, never knowing what they’re missing out on.  _

_ I love all of our pieces, but  _ How Can I Keep From Singing _ simply resonates with me the most.  _

_ I’m not particularly religious, but the first time we sang through this piece on words, I cried. Of course, I didn’t let anyone see me. Of course, Mariana did anyway, perceptive little alto that she is. _

_ I explained to her that it’s the first song I ever heard that put my feelings about music into accurate words and harmony. Somehow, Gwenyth Walker, absolute genius that she is, uses sound to paint on the canvas that is silence. She illustrates the pull in my heart when I hear a sonorous cadence, the rush in my blood when I sing at full volume with my choir. _

My life flows on in endless song   
Above earth's lamentation   
Through all the tumult and the strife    
I hear its music ringing   
It sounds an echo in my soul   
How can I keep from singing?

_ I always thought that being successful, being the best at something, was what made you special. And don’t get me wrong, I’m still ambitious and want to be the best that  _ I  _ can be, but… I think the most special thing about music, the reason I love choir so much more than solo singing, is because I get to share it with so many people. The audience, the pianist, the director, and especially the rest of the choir. _

_ No matter how good you are, you can’t harmonize on your own. _

_ Mr. Hummel taught me that.  _

_ I don’t even think he knows that. _

_ As I look—well, not look, per se. My eyes are fixed on the director, like the perfect choir student I am. As I  _ sense _ my classmates around me—people who I resented and who hated me not three months ago, people who are now my friends—I swear I can feel our heartbeats syncing. I know I’ve always had a flare for the dramatic, but there have actually been scientific studies on this stuff. Something about taking breaths at the same time and the natural physiological response to music, it causes members of a choir to have the same beats per minute. _

_ With all this in mind, I wonder… how could anyone ever call this stupid? _

* * *

[ **A Moment of Kyle** ](https://youtu.be/Dd9qM2sZGs4)

_ I used to think choir was stupid. _

_ Don’t get me wrong, Mari and I have been beffas since we were kids and I never made fun of her for being in it or anything, always came to her shows and stuff, but… Let’s just say it wasn’t easy for me to get hot and bothered about some weird Bach piece. _

_ But  _ this _ song really gets me going. How could it not!? Melodie thinks it’s a bit silly, but that’s kind of what I love about it. Since joining choir, I’ve learned that music is beautiful and moving and all that, but it’s also really  _ fun,  _ and there’s nothing wrong with that. _

_ Oh, shit. No breath here. Mr. H will be so disappointed, and Melodie will rip me to shreds. _

_ I don’t wanna sound like a dick for saying this, but I’m glad Mr. Davidson got fired. Not just for what he did to Mel, which was super awful and gross and terrible, but because we’d all rather have Mr. Hummel anyways. _

_ A lot of students like Mr. H better, and not just because he’s not an asshole. I sure as hell do. _

_ Most teachers I know would have just given up on me. A few have. Hell, my own parents almost did.  _

_ When the world sees you as this goofy, laidback jock, they just kind of assume that you’re not trying. Even if you’re trying as hard as you can for hours on end and still manage to only get a few pages into your summer reading. _

_ That day that Mr. H and Mr. A helped me with my solo was… It wasn’t just that they took the extra time, it was that Mr. H found a whole new way to teach me. Even with my diagnosis, I always kind of just figured I was slow. I never thought that there could be a way around that. _

_ Sometimes I feel like I have to be funny because being smart isn’t really an option. But in choir, I get to be sensitive and smart and even talented and… well, still funny, too. _

_ I used to think choir was kind of dumb, but then again… I used to think  _ I  _ was dumb. Now I know better. _

* * *

[ **A Moment of Mariana** ](https://youtu.be/gUdxchQeRNY)

_ I’m going to fucking puke.  _

_ Out of excitement or nerves, I honestly don’t know. I can’t believe I just sang a solo! For  _ contest!

_ And I can’t believe that I sounded like  _ that.

_ Maybe it makes me basic, but this song is by far my favorite. Kyle thinks the dissonance is weird, but I just think it makes you appreciate the consonant chords even more.  _

_ In a moment of full on choir-nerd mode, I looked up an annotation of the poetry and found out that the opening line is from Shakespeare. Something about how the character saying that line thinks that music will somehow cure his desire for love. _

If music be the food of love   
Sing on, sing on   
Till I am filled with joy    
Sing on, sing on

_ It’s not exactly the same thing, but I get that. When you’re doing something you love, it’s easy to feel like you don’t need anything else. _

For then my listening soul you move to   
Pleasures that can never, never cloy   
If music be the food of love    
Sing on, sing on

_ I know I work hard and practice until I physically can’t anymore, but I never would have gotten here without Mr. Hummel’s help. _

_ I’m not in choir because I’m good at it, that much is obvious. I’ve always loved to sing, but since I was a kid I had this self-awareness and understanding that my voice wasn’t anything special. That I wasn’t anything special. _

_ Next year, I’ll be long gone from this school. In a few years time, nobody will remember that I graduated from here (they’ll probably remember Melodie, since she’ll be on the famous alumni page of the newspaper). I don’t particularly care about all that, but I do know this much: one day I’ll look back on this moment and remember that it mattered.  _

_ It matters now, and on my darkest days—the ones when I don’t feel important or like I’m not making enough of an impact—I’ll remember that once, I helped create something beautiful.  _

_ And that someone like Mr. Hummel saw something special enough in me to give me that chance. _

* * *

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

Blaine cares about the choir kids (even if they aren’t technically his students, he still feels like they’re his kids) every year. With each unique group that finds their way into the choir room every year, Blaine wants the best for them, wants them to succeed and reach their fullest potential.

But he’s never been this hands-shaking-knees-wobbling nervous about UIL Concert and Sight-Reading contest. But then again, he’s never felt the way he does about Kurt before.

Every choir he’s worked with was important, but this particular one will always hold a special place in his heart. He’ll look back at the pictures they took with Melodie at TMEA after her All State concert, or during the Spring Festival, and think fondly of the choir that brought him and Kurt together. 

Blaine is one hundred percent getting ahead of himself, but when he goes for something, he really goes all in.

The kids had done an impeccable job with their concert, but their sight-reading has admittedly gone better. They’re allowed two attempts, and luckily, the kids fixed every mistake from their first reading.

Kurt finally rounds the corner, legal letter sized envelope in his arms. He looks at Blaine anxiously.

“So…” Blaine can’t help his nerves making him more ansty than usual. “How’d they do?”

Kurt just shakes his head. “I… I haven’t looked at the judges’ sheets yet. I thought we could do it together.”

Blaine forgets all about being worried for a moment. “Really?”

Kurt nods, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Even before we were… together… you were always right there by my side, reliable as sunrise. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Not caring that other choir directors are in the building and that he and Kurt will most definitely be the subject of their gossip, Blaine pulls Kurt in for a quick kiss. 

When they pull away, Kurt smiles then gnaws on his bottom lip nervously. “Ready?”

Blaine places his hands on Kurt’s shoulders and inhales deeply. “Ready,” he agrees.

And Kurt slides the papers out of the beige envelope.

* * *

**_A Moment of Mariana, Melodie, Kyle, and Izzy_ **

“Okay, I’m still lowkey confused about how all of this works,” Kyle admits.

“Honestly, I’ve been in choir for four years and I’m confused,” Izzy adds. “All I know is we go on that stage and kill it and we get a trophy.”

“Okay, so,” Mariana starts. “UIL Contest is facilitated by UIL, obviously. We’re not really competing  _ against _ other choirs, it’s more of an evaluation. There are three judges for Concert and three judges for Sight Reading. Each judge gives us a score, the worst being a 5-Poor, and the best you can get is a 1-Superior. If you get an overall average score of 1—which could be a 1, 2, 1—on both Concert and Sight Reading, that’s called a Sweepstakes.”

Melodie decides to jump in. “And then there’s what we call a  _ Perfect _ Sweepstakes, which means that every single judge gave us a 1! We haven’t had one since I’ve been here, but rest assured we will before I graduate.”

The doors to the bus open, sounding like water on a hot griddle, and everyone shuts up, collectively staring anxiously at the front of the bus. The sound of footsteps up the small set of stairs announces Mr. Hummel’s presence, and he’s followed closely by Mr. Anderson. 

A hush falls over the entire choir.

Their director’s face (and yes, most of them do consider Mr. Hummel their director at this point) is blank and unreadable. Mariana assumes the worst, but Melodie thinks he’s doing this for dramatic effect.

Finally, he cracks a smile and says, “2019-2020 EHS Varsity Mixed Choir… Congratulations. You’ve earned yourselves a Sweepstakes.”


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welp, here it is! Final installment :( 
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and kind words, i had such a fun time writing this story, even if it did get a bit hard through quarantine. If you ever have a chance, I highly recommend taking a listen to the music featured in this fic! I promise it's all good, and most of the recordings are by HIGH SCHOOL KIDS!? I just think that's mind-blowing but im also a huge choir nerd lmao
> 
> Anyways, hugest thanks in the word to Adri, who helped TREMENDOUSLY with this story. Seriously, I don't know if it would be what it is without her and her mind.
> 
> enjoy this epilogue :)

There’s no rest for the wicked—or apparently, choir directors either.

Kurt takes a day or two to regroup, give the kids time off and some critical feedback on their performance, and then it’s time to start rehearsal for their Spring show.

At the insistence of the choir council (the group of peer voted officers from the choir) the theme is “Throwback”, which to them essentially just means any song written before the 21st century. He asks for their input on song choices, and they insist on doing a rendition of  _ Don’t Stop Believing _ from some weirdly unrealistic TV show about a show choir.

It grows on Kurt… eventually.

The Saturday before their show, after five long weeks of rehearsal, he’s submitting the last of his teaching philosophy and reflection essays to his University Coordinator. For all the shit he went through this semester, he better get that A.

Once he hits the submit button, he opens up a new tab, searching districts far and wide for openings he can apply for. He’s applied for at least fifteen open positions, and he’s still got a handful to complete. He constantly checks the San Antonio ISD page for openings, knowing the vacancy Mr. Davidson left should be posted soon. 

Although he knows he’s a long shot. He  _ is _ a first year teacher with no experience, after all. Applying for head choir director at reputable schools doesn’t typically yield good results for people in his position.

One weekend, he does in fact see an opening for EHS. But it’s not Mr. Davidson’s position.

_ Location: East High School _ _   
_ _ Position: Assistant Choir Director _

“Blaine?” he calls out, turning the laptop to show him. “Have you seen this?”

Blaine furrows his eyebrows. “Yeah, the principal sent out an email saying he was reopening the position. You didn’t get it?” Kurt just gives him a mildly condescending glare before it clicks for Blaine. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t be on the mailing list because you’re not technically an employee, I forgot,” he admits sheepishly.

“Are you applying?” Kurt asks. Blaine’s been dying to work with a choir, officially, for nearly three years now. This would be the perfect opportunity for him. 

“I uh, no, actually,” he admits with a fond smile. “I was thinking that if my boyfriend applied for it, he’d probably get it, considering how amazing he is, and that we’d get to keep working together…”

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?” It’s the first time either of them have explicitly said it. It’s not a conversation they’ve really had time to have, given the circumstances. They really just sort of slotted into each other’s lives, fell into a routine that was so natural and easy and comfortable. Although they haven’t talked about it, Kurt is quite certain Blaine isn’t seeing anyone else, and as far as he’s concerned, Blaine is the only one for him. 

“Oh… I didn’t—If that’s what you  _ want,”  _ Blaine adds hurriedly. “In terms of the label  _ and _ the teaching. Because I know that working together isn’t for every couple—not that you and I are officially a couple—but we seem to have a good dynamic, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Especially since whoever they bring in to fill in for the head director position can’t  _ possibly _ be as bad as Mr. Da—”

Kurt answers him by pressing his lips gently against Blaine’s. “I think that would be a splendid idea.”

“Which one?” Blaine asks, but the eye crinkling grin on his face tells Kurt he already knows the answer.

“Both.”

* * *

The principal calls Kurt for an interview a few days after he submits his application. He has to ask Blaine to cover the seventh period Show Choir, because that’s when they’ve scheduled his interview. Luckily all the music work is over for the semester, seeing as they just had their Spring show, so Blaine tells Kurt he’ll just show kids performances of past All-State choirs.

On his panel is Principal Villarreal (who he already knows, since she let him use the conference room for his meeting with Dr. Pillsbury) the head band director, and Mrs. Guerra, the art teacher and head of the Fine Arts department. 

Kurt knows he’s visibly nervous—how could he not be? Nonetheless, he thinks the interview goes pretty well. Some standard education questions and some more directly targeted towards music, but he’s fairly confident he handles them all well.

Finally, they reach the last question. Mrs. Guerra lifts her head and smiles at Kurt. “What qualities do you possess that make you stand out from the other applicants?”

He takes a moment (one he hopes isn’t too long) to formulate his thoughts, even though this  _ is  _ a question he prepared for.

“I know you are all aware of the situation with Mr. Davidson,” he starts. “I was almost transferred out by my University to complete my student teaching over in New York, but I fought to stay here because I couldn’t just leave these kids high and dry for their Contest… I am sure that everyone applying here today is highly qualified to fill the position. But as someone who comes from this district, I know that you don’t want someone who is simply qualified. You want someone who is easy to work with, can connect with the kids, and will always,  _ always  _ do right by them… I believe I’ve shown that I can do that. These kids already know me. They trusted me enough to take them to contest and lead them to a Sweepstakes, and they continue to trust me now to lead them in their Spring show. I think I could do great things with this program, if given the opportunity.”

Everyone on the panel is grinning at him by the end, which he hopes is a good sign.

“Thank you, Kurt,” Principal Villarreal says. “Are there any questions you have for us?”

“Actually,” he begins. “Yes. I was wondering what the hiring process for head director would look like, since I know if selected for this position, they are someone I would be working closely with.”

“Well, we’d start with internal transfers first, and if none of the other choir directors from the other three campuses request a transfer, we’ll go ahead and open the position up to the public. We are looking for somebody trustworthy, reliable, and with a good work ethic.”

Kurt has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his smile simply professional. “I know it may not mean much coming from me, since I am just a student teacher as of now—”

“A great one, though,” the orchestra teacher adds.

Mrs. Guerra gives a little hum of agreement. “Even if you don’t get this position, just know we are all very impressed, and you have definitely proven yourself to be a worthy teacher, wherever you go.”

Kurt lets out a little laugh. “Thank you, I appreciate it so much. But I didn’t do it alone. Without the constant support I received from Bl—Mr. Anderson, the piano teacher,” he pauses for a moment, watching as the principal nods and jots something down on her notes, “the results from UIL would not have been possible. The kids love him, he is very talented and knowledgeable, and I think he has just the qualities you’re looking for in a head director.”

* * *

**_A Moment of Blaine_ **

Blaine is still reeling.

Kurt had come out of his interview, said he thought it went pretty well, and taken off for his family’s Friday Night Dinner. 

Blaine had been in his office, deciding to stay for just a little while longer to research future repertoire pieces, when his phone stirred to life with an abrupt ring.

A fifteen minute conversation later, he was profusely thanking Principal Villarreal for directing him to the Personnel department employee who would forward him the appropriate internal transfer papers.

In total honesty, it had never even occurred to him to apply for Mr. Davidson’s vacancy. Between helping Kurt out with orchestrating the Spring show, preparing the students who advanced to state for their upcoming trip to Austin, and filling out the final required mentor teacher evaluations, filling out an application for a new job simply didn’t cross his mind. 

And now, save for an act of divine intervention, he’s going to be the new East High Head Choir Director.

He loves (loved?) his job as the piano teacher, but teaching choir is what he’d gone to school for. It’s what he’d dreamed of doing ever since he was a senior in high school, the second he stepped off the risers for what would be his final UIL contest. As soon as his shoes hit the stage floor, he was certain of two things: one, they’d be receiving a sweepstakes trophy that day, and two, he could not go a single day for the rest of his life without this in it. Music, singing, and spreading the passion he held so close to his heart for it—it was his purpose.

After years of being so close, he’s finally going to get that chance.

The drive to Kurt’s place goes by quickly. He could have just called, but this is something he’d love to tell Kurt in person. After a few slightly frantic knocks on the front door, it swings open to reveal Kurt’s confused but always beautiful face.

As soon as Blaine is able, he surges forward and crashes their lips together. Kurt’s surprise melts into an eagerness that matches Blaine’s in record time.

Kurt chuckles a little when they pull apart. “What was that for?”

“Principal Villareal called and offered me Mr. Davidson’s old position,” he explains. “She mentioned someone spoke quite highly of me today.”

The grin on Kurt’s face only grows. “And she told you that it was me?”

“She didn’t have to,” Blaine answers. “You know, if you get that assistant position, we’ll be officially working together.”

“Oh, what an adjustment,” Kurt says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve never even done a lesson together, how will we get by?”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “If I kiss you again will you drop the sarcasm?”

“Probably not,” Kurt admits. “But I’ll let you give it a try.”

* * *

**_A Moment of Kyle, Mariana, and Melodie_ **

_ All-State Area Auditions, January, One Year Later  _

“Again,” sighs Kyle. “I don’t completely understand the audition process for the All-State choir.”

Melodie rolls her eyes. “Just know, when I ask how the hell you made it this far, it’s not a jab at your musical ability, but rather at your general obliviousness to life. This is your second year in choir, how do you not know this?”

“To be fair,” Kyle refutes, “This is the first time I’ve done the All-State stuff. Back me up here, Mari.”

Mariana stops gnawing her nails down to their beds long enough to give Kyle a mildly annoyed glare. “This is the last time I’m explaining anything to you, though.”

“Well, we are graduating soon, so that could very well be a true statement.”

“Why must you remind me of your impending exits?” Melodie grumbles under her breath.

“Don’t worry, Mel. We’ll come back to visit,” Kyle assures her with a gentle smile. “Promise.”

She smiles back and gestures to Mariana to continue her explanation. “Alright,” Mariana starts. “So you know how the audition stuff works, obviously, since we all did our blind auditions today—as did everyone waiting in this cafeteria with us. In a moment, when they announce the members of the All-State Choir, they do it by section and in reverse order. That means they’ll call second and first alternates first, and then list the people who made it. Starting with eighth chair and ending with Melodie, because realistically she’s going to get first chair in the Soprano section.”

Melodie holds her hand to her heart. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. But I did only get fifth chair last year. Only the top four chairs of each Area make it into the Mixed Choir, and chairs four through eight are the gender choirs… I really want to be a part of the Mixed this year, though.”

“You will,” Kyle says. “It’s inevitable. The work you, Mr. A, and Mr. Hummel have put in this year is absolutely wack. There’s no way you  _ didn’t _ make first chair.”

“Thanks…” A slow grin spreads on her face. “Speaking of Mr. H and A, did you notice anything  _ different,” _ she lifts up her left hand, making a point to tap her ring finger against her chin, “about them at rehearsal the other day?”

Kyle drops his jaw. “No way!” he gasps. “We still don’t even know if they’re dating.”

Melodie rolls her eyes back into her skull. “Not officially, no, but come on. They’ve been dating since Mr. Hummel was student teaching. They think they’re not, but they are so dreadfully obvious.”

“Nuh-uh,” he retorts. “I think they’d tell us if they were getting married. How else would we sing at their wedding? Oh, my god. If next year’s choir gets to sing at it and we don’t, I am going to be _ livid.  _ What do you think, Mari?”

Mariana is once again chewing on her nails and staring blankly at the table. “I think that this is my last chance to make this choir. My last chance to prove to myself and everyone else that I am a worthy musician, and I am not making a mistake by going into the music field. And if I don’t make it—”

A hand on her shoulder makes her glance up, eyes still wide. 

Mr. Anderson smiles down at her reassuringly, he and Mr. Hummel apparently back from the director’s lounge for results. “And if you don’t make it,” he starts. “Then it doesn’t mean you’re not a great musician, and it certainly doesn’t negate all the leaps and bounds of progress you’ve made this year.”

She lets out a breath she only just now realized she’d holding in. “Thanks, Mr. A. I’m just nervous.”

Mr. Anderson takes a seat at the table and Mr. Hummel claims the empty space next to him. Melodie holds back a grin as she notices them exchange glances that are somehow both excited and fond.

“It’s okay,” Mr. Hummel reassures her. “Mr. Anderson is right. No matter what, everyone here is beyond proud of you.”

With an anxious sigh, Mariana nods gratefully. She knows they’re proud of her regardless, but she still really,  _ really  _ wants this.

The whine of feedback from a microphone warns them of the announcer’s arrival. She opens with some pleasantries, congratulating everyone who made it to the last round of the competition and asking everyone to hold their applause until the end of each section. Then she starts with the Basses.

Melodie takes Kyle’s hand and squeezes tightly, like she’s more nervous about this than he is. They announce the second alternate—some guy from the outskirts of Schertz—and then…

“First Alternate: Kyle Gomez—East San Antonio High.”

His eyes go wide in shock as Melodie and Mariana try to keep their decorum in check.

The two teachers watch on, twin grins spread across their faces. “Congrats, Kyle!” Mr. Hummel says, giving him a celebratory shoulder squeeze.

“Cold and flu season is upon us,” Melodie starts, her eyes gleaming with a wild mischief. “All we need is for one of the Basses to get sick, and then we’re  _ all _ going to the convention in February.”

“My god,” Mariana whines. “We still don’t even know if I made it. Do  _ not  _ jinx this, Mel.”

“You can’t jinx talent and a good work ethic!”

Mariana just groans again and buries her head in her arms.

Not a single soul is surprised when the last name to be called in the first Soprano section is Melodie’s, but they all still stand up and excitedly reel each other in for a group hug as they squeal in delight.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Kyle exclaims. “You did it, Mel!”

When she pulls away from him, her eyes are wet with tears. She looks over towards Mariana. “I’m just really glad we got to do this together,” she says with a sniff. “Before you leave me behind.”

“I’m so proud of you, Mel,” Mariana says sincerely. “You’re gonna go on to do great things, I just know it.”

She smiles gratefully back at her friend before the announcer moves on to the Alto 2 section.

Mariana holds her breath the entire time; she can’t bear to even breathe in, worrying that any little ripple in the universe could hurt her chances of getting her name called. The announcer calls the alternates, then eighth chair. Then another.

And another.

And another.

Every name called that isn’t hers feels like a punch in the ribcage. Mariana is good enough at math. She knows that with each passing chair, her chances (and hopes) dwindle. Her eyes begin to water once fifth chair is called. It’s not her, and she knows she won’t hear her name be called with the mixed choir members.

Chest tightening, she buries her head in her hands as Kyle moves to rub soothing circles on her back with his palm. It’s hard not to feel like this entire process was for nothing. Like no matter how hard she tries, or how badly she wants something, Mariana will just always be several steps behind everyone else. She’ll  _ never  _ be good enough. It feels like it was all for nothing—every extra after school rehearsal, every night she spent at her cheap Casio, learning how to play the basic melody of the pieces so she could be as accurate and refined as possible—

“Mariana Ramos, East San Antonio High.”

Mariana is so instantly stricken into shock that she doesn’t even process the two names being called after hers. It’s Mr. Hummel who proudly confirms, “Third chair, Mari! You got third chair!”

Melodie leaps out of her seat and tackles Mari with an air-constricting hug. “We’re gonna be in the mixed choir together,” she exclaims through her tears of happiness.

After letting out a whoop and pumping his fist in the air, Kyle adds himself to the hug. 

The shock wears off after about a solid minute, and once her friends release her, she turns to her teachers. One look at their tearful smiles and it all suddenly hits her.

She launches herself into the torso of the person who made this possible. “Thank you, Mr. Hummel,” she sniffs. Mr. Anderson also had a hand in her growth, but Mariana knows her journey started last year. She wouldn’t be here if it weren't for Mr. Hummel. Based on the affectionate look pointed towards them, Mr. Anderson knows that.

The assistant director smiles down at her once she pulls away, eyes shining with both pride and tears. “Congratulations, Mari. I’m proud of you.”

For the first time in her life, Mariana is proud of herself, too.

* * *

Kurt slides into the front seat of the bus, delighted as usual when Blaine claims his seat next to him. 

“Good day, wouldn’t you say?” Blaine asks, the grin seemingly taking up permanent residence on his face.

“A great year, actually,” Kurt hums back, satisfied, instinctively reaching down to clasp their hands together.

Blaine nods in agreement, running his right thumb over the silver band on Kurt’s left hand. 

Always a stickler for the details, Melodie notices their interactions as she boards the bus, heading to the back to join her friends. It doesn’t seem like the appropriate move to point it out to her classmates—she just wants to bask in the glory of their victories for a moment longer. 

Instead, she keeps her triumphant smirk to herself when she hears their head director sigh contentedly and add, “The first of many.”


End file.
